Saving Icarus
by kohakumiyu
Summary: This story tells the old tale of a girl who thought she would never fall in love and could never be loved. In the end, she was only half right. She fell in love, but still couldn't be loved, because the golden elf-lord loved another. Right?
1. Chapter 1: A Bedtime Story

**Chapter 1: Bedtime Story**

"The outside world got nothing to do with us..." the stocky figure with muddy brown beard growled irately, "tis not our fight."

Amidst the group of tall fair beings standing opposite to Brown Beard, a golden-haired man stepped out, his stance proud and strong: "it will soon be your fight," his reserved but powerful voice cut through the soft morning mist, "the darkness of Mordor will ne'er stop until all lands are shrouded in its deep shadows."

The group of bushy beards murmured restlessly. However, a short figure with dark red beard stepped out and the murmurs ceased.

"Darkness? Thanks to yee pointy-eared ones, we have our own darkness. And this one, even Morgoth himself would fear," the figure snorted.

A wave of confusion passed through their counterparts.

Frown marked the golden-haired man's fair facade as he spoke up: "I do not understand what it is that you speak of."

"The Ghost of Forlindon," Red Beard stamped out.

"The Ghost of Forlindon? Tis merely a story you dwarves tell to your children so they would not wander into the forest edge of Lindon." A younger man standing behind the golden-haired one spoke up haughtily.

The golden-haired man's bright eyes flashed slightly and the younger one bowed in acquisition, stepping back into the group again. However, his tone had already caused much displeasure within their oppositions.

"A mere story you lot say?" The Brown Beard snapped, "well, I've seen him with me own eyes, eyes redder than blood and skin pale to translucence. That thing ain't a live being or any beast ta be named roaming around. 'n you could ask ta' round. Me ain't the only one ta seen that thing. Plenty o' us grown lads 'ere 've seen it."

A chorus of agreement echoed behind him.

Beards shook as heads darted around warily, as if fearing any moment the very ghost they spoke of would float out of the forest.

"Enough, Lord Glorfindel, there is no use speaking to these selfish superstitious savages. We have little time as it is, and we should not waste it here with them. Any days now the Corsairs of Umbar will round the Gulf of Lune and attack from Northwards starting with Grey Haven." Another man behind the golden-haired one spoke up. For hundreds, thousands, of years his brethren have fought the darkness. Never once had the dwarves climb out of their mines to offer help except when their own interest was threatened. To him, these beings had no heart, no compassion, no sense of greater good.

The golden-haired being raised a hand and the former quieted.

"Selfish ya say?" the Red Beard laughed dryly, his wrinkled face that bespoke of great age and wisdom suddenly darkened slightly, "I send off me son, me only son, to that idiotic quest of yours. I might na ever see him agin. And you call me selfish?"

"Gloin son of Groin I apologize for my kinsmen's words, but we mean no insult. The forces of Morgoth will swept down Northwards even as they work their way from the South. We must stop them before they encompass these lands, because when they do, there will be no stopping them. The sun will never again show its face in this world." The golden-haired one said steadily, his bright eyes never once lost their flames as they held the bitter stares of his counterparts.

Gloin held the burning gaze for a long time before he looked away with a tired sigh: "Get ye pointy-ear ones out of here, out of me land. Ye hear? This is not our battle and that is me final words." He said before turning around, leaving.

Brown Beard glanced at the tall beings and sneered: "Ye ask for our help, but ye might think of asking ta own kin first."

Seeing the blank look on the fair beings face, brown beard's sneer widened: "Tha Ghost, it couldn't hav always been a ghost now could it. It's the spirit of a litta elfling you lots left at Morgoth's mercy when you fled these parts in the First Age. Tha poor soul suffered untold 'mounts ta torture before dying. And with ee's dying breath it cursed these lands, say'in ee would haunt it 'til the end o' time."

The young being who had spoke out the very firsts time retorted angrily: "That is a mere story you made up. We would never leave any elflings behind to such end."

Brown beard scoffed: "Ye sure o' tha now. But spen' one night in tha forest, listen to tha tortured screamin' o' tha monsta and you wouldna say so agin." With one last sneer at the fair beings Brown beard left towards the Blue Mountains and his other kins followed. Within minutes, the fair beings were left alone standing in the small space of grassland between the Forest of Forlindon and the base of Blue Mountains.

The golden-haired being turned to the young being who had spoke out, a language foreign in words yet soothing to the ear in its soft gentle tone floated in the air.

(Amdir, one should not antagonize allies-to-be. Tis not the way.)

The young one, Amdir, bowed his head slightly in shame: (I understand, my Lord Glorfindel, but,) he raised his head, his eyes flashed angrily, (they were selfish and stubborn. They see little beyond the jewels and tarnished gold of the earth.)

(Amdir, tis the way they are created, tis their nature. We cannot blame them for such things.) the golden haired man Amdir named as Glorfindel responded gently.

Amdir clasped a hand to his chest and bowed his head again: (I give my apology, my Lord.) He spoke but his heart did not agree. They had counted on the dwarves as their last hope. With men preoccupied in the South, fighting Sauron himself, there were no other allies to aide the elves in the North. Furthermore, many of the elves had long time these shores of twilight and sailed West.

Without an ally, the First-Borns left in these lands were doomed to fend for themselves.

Thus said, Amdir could not understand how Lord Glorfindel remained so calm.

(It matters not now,) Glorfindel sighed as he turned back to face the forest, (we return to Grey Haven and prepare ourselves for the Corsairs.) As the tall elf turned, dark shadows passed through his bright golden eyes.

He wasn't calm, no, he was far from it.

The odds of a hand full of elves against hordes of goblins, and men twisted by Sauron's darkness were less than optimistic, to say the least, even if the elves were better trained. Quality over quantity, but quantity has a certain quality of its own as well.

The golden-haired elf-lord clenched his hands tightly; there was no other choice. They must fight, and they must win. He would have no less than victory. He glanced up to the darkening sky, to the Evenstar that was still shrouded by the bright rays of sunlight.

If darkness is not cleared from these land soon, it will overcome the Evenstar, and that was not an option. He will not leave her to grow cold from the darkness of Sauron. He will fight for her, and win. His jaw set stubbornly, and the light of determination entered his eyes.

He will fight...until his last breath.

When night fell they had just passed through the Forest of Forlindon and stood on its shadowy edge when a hideous shriek ripped through the previously calm night air. Crackling laughter and vile coarse speech shattered the remaining pieces of the night.

The golden fire within Glorfindel's eyes flared up brightly.

(The Corsairs, but they should not be here...) Amdir gasped in surprise; however even as he did so, his hands strung his bow and notched an arrow in well-practiced fluidity.

(They arrived earlier than expected,) another elf commented quietly.

(Ready yourself,) Glorfindel said, calmly raising his sword. The slightly curved blade, resembling the graceful tilt of a young yew tree branch, glinted dangerously under the pallid moonlight.

The smell of Corsair reached the elves even before the sharp elven sight could discern the shadows within the darkness of the night. The stench of sweat, blood, and grime mixed with decayed sea salt turned the face of several younger elves raised in times of peace a few shades paler.

(Amdir, flank left. Duinwin take the right. Imin and Enel follow I.) Glorfindel murmured, his eyes never wavered from the darkness in front of him.

The elves nodded; they moved in unison: their knees bent slightly, their sword held out in front, readied for battle.

Not a moment too soon, sharp metal glints of swords, axes, and various weapons materialized out of the velvet night.

(We fight, for a brighter day tomorrow,) Glorfindel said quietly, his eyes glanced up briefly to the Evenstar glowing in the expanse of darkness. A flash of sadness flittered by in his eyes, briefly darkened the golden flames. Yet it was only flash, and in an blink of an eye the dark emotion had disappeared only to be replaced by fiery determination as the onslaught of Morgoth's soldiers flooded towards them.

The battle was vicious, hard, and long.

The elves fought valiantly; however, their number was against them. Even with their superior skills one elf could only hold off against so many.

Slowly the elves were pushed back towards the forest, victorious leers could be seen on the Corsairs' face. Yet even as they were being pushed back, the golden-haired elf did not waver, the flame in his eyes did not lessen.

A strangled gasp sounded beside him. Amdir, the fiery young elf fell under a bloody sword, the flame of youth forever quenched to cold ember.

Pain tore at Glorfindel's heart as he saw the light of the Eldar put out all to soon. His sword weaved through the throng of enemies faster and faster.

Today is not his time yet, the Forest of Forlindon would not be his grave, the golden elf thought, his heart clenched so tightly his chest ache. He will return to see the beautiful smile of the Evenstar. He will return to her...

Just then a nightmarish scream sliced through the battle din, for a brief moment everyone, Corsair and elf, froze stock-still to the ground as the soul-shattering shriek of despair shook them to their core.

The words of the dwarf suddenly came back into his mind, "listen to tha tortured screamin' o' tha monsta..."

The scream sounded again, this time even the battle hardened Corsairs took a collective step back away from the forest.

"Ghost..."

"Ghost of Forlindon..."

"Monster..."

Hoarse rasps echoed across the Corsair ranks.

Suddenly one particular ragged pirate let out a hysterical yell. The faces of the Corsairs paled as they stared at something horrific behind the elves.

The elves themselves did not dare to turn their eyes away from their enemies, but their keen ears could pick up the crunching of leaves and twigs as heavy footsteps passed between them.

Gasps escaped the first elf as the ghostly sight drifted past him, and his gasp was followed by another, and another until finally the pale spectre drifted into Glorfindel's vision.

He did not gasp or made any sound of surprise, but his fingers mechanically clenched the sword tighter.

For once the dwarves were right.

This was no live being. It could not be.

White, pure snow white, hair cascaded down colorless pallid skin without any shade of pink hue that would indicate life. As the head tilted slightly, Glorfindel caught sight of one glowing red eye beneath the long wintry lockes.

T'was if Iluvatar had taken snow and put in rubies for eyes and created a being from that.

The ghost shifted slightly and suddenly screams, the same agonizing scream from before, surrounded them again, except the ghost did not open its mouth.

The Corsairs shuddered and inched back again.

"This is my land...my realm..." soft low voice came out of the spectre, breathy, whispery, "how dare you trespass..." The ghost took in a rattling breath, "how dare you..." it shifted its head, revealing both of its blood red eyes.

"Monster..." one Corsair roared and came at the ghost with a sword.

The ghost raised a hand to cover its face and suddenly a jet of flames came shooting out, enveloping the Corsair. He shrieked and writhed in pain, his fellow soldiers scattered about as flames devoured him. Stench of burnt flesh permeated the field, and finally the man fell to the ground. He twitched for one last time before stilled.

Well every eye was riveted to the charcoal body, a pair of golden eyes fell on the pale limbs and they caught the barest movement that everyone neglected and his ears caught the soft hitch in the breath. His eyes narrowed, but he said nothing.

The ghost cocked its head stiffly as it studied the rest of the Corsairs.

"You will stay...with me...so I will not be a...a...lone..."

The ghost took another step towards the pirates, and that was the last straw. The Corsair turned tails and ran.

Silence suddenly fell on the fields where clashes of metal had just been heard a few minutes ago. The flame surrounding the fallen body of the Corsair spluttered and died. The Ghost stared after the disappearing Corsairs for some time before it finally turned around. A cloud passed and covered the already dim moonlight. Footsteps sounded but grew fainter and fainter.

When the cloud passed and the moonlight shone through again, the pale spectre had disappeared.

(The Ghost of Forlindon...) Duinwin breathed out rather unsteadily.

Glorfindel frowned and glanced down at the soft grass beneath his feet before he looked up again: (Nay...t'were no more a ghost than you and I,) he murmured before swiftly he ran into the forest.

(My Lord!) his men shouted behind him, startled by the sudden and abrupt movement.

Within seconds Enel caught up with the golden-haired elf-lord: (My lord, what...)

(That was no ghost, that was a frightened child.) The golden elf said, his eyes glowing brightly.

(A child?) Duinwin asked as he too had caught up.

(Aye, a child,) Glorfindel replied, his eyes intently trained on the grounds, looking for the faintest sight of disturbance that marked the Ghost of Forlindon's trail.

(That cannot be, there had not been an elfling since the fair Lady Arwen Udomiel and the Prince of Mirkwood.) Enel said puzzled.

(And surely no elfling could have such...such look...) Duinwin added, his voice shuddered with horror as he thought back to the blood red eyes.

(I do not know why he has such look, and I care not. I do not know if he is an elfling or a human child. And I care not.) Glorfindel said, his golden eyes flashed with the barest hint of anger at Duinwin, (I merely know he is a child, and no child should be left in these woods, alone and uncared for. Children are the miracles of life, or have you forgotten that?)

Duinwin pursed his lips: (I know that Lord Glorfindel, but you are sure that being is a child?)

(I am not sure; I know.) Were the only words from the golden elf's lips as he flew through the dense woods.

She didn't know why she bothered helping them. They were elves, were they not? They would have been fine, with strength, skills, and intelligence beyond normal humans. But when she saw that young elf so carelessly slashed down...when she saw the silvery light disappear from his soul...she couldn't help herself.

Dwarves had been easier to fool. Their minds preoccupied with jewels, silver, gold, and other treasures from the earth, they did not think twice about her being a ghost. Yet, elves were smarter. It had been a foolhardy risk.

With her looks they might mistake her for a monster instead of a spectre, and kill her or burn her at the stake.

Yet, given the blank expression on the elves' face and the lack of movements or denouncement from their side, it seemed she had fooled them.

Escaping to her sanctuary on the shores of the River Lhun, she finally stopped her hurried steps. She knelt down on the grassy banks and looked into the clear blue waters. Her frightfully colored features stared back at her. Yet, it did not bother her. She had twenty-four long years to get use to them, and now at her twenty-fourth year she no longer found her features troubling. She wasn't deformed nor was she missing any limbs or fingers. There were so many people out there in the world who fared worse than her...so many people in _her _world.

Yes...of course...in this world where elves, so beautiful they would put Botticelli's Venus and Raphael's Marys' to shame, lived there were no one more uglier than her.

That faithful day when she woke up on the cold forest floor and walked a few feet only to see a young dwarf running screaming away from her turned her previously dull normal life upside down.

It had puzzled her greatly. In fact, she had thought she was dreaming. However, when the dwarves returned with a witch-hunting party, she knew she was not hallucinating. The glint of the axes under the faint sunlight shining in the forest, scattered by the thick branches of the trees, was real enough.

Through their scattered words, and later through the snatches of faint conversations of the wandering parties of what could only have been the Northern Dunedain, she learned where she was. For some brief time after that she wondered she had lost her mind. But she was firm believer of no-nonsense.

Her favorite detective once said: when all other possibilities have been eliminated, than the only one left must be the explanation.

Even if that explanation is so silly. Even if that explanation is impossible. Even if she couldn't for the life of her figure out how she could have possibly disappeared from the "real" world and reappeared in a "fictional" world of a book she had read so long ago.

It was not as if she was a character in "Inkheart," randomly bringing fictional characters to life.

Hell, when she couldn't find a damn toilet within the nearby five mile radius she became bloody sure this was no dream. Any decent girl from the twenty-first century would never ever dream of somewhere without the modern comforts somewhere nearby. Of course, the distinctive lack of instant noodles also did not help. At one point, she'd even be willing to give a limb for fish and chips, and she hated those stuff.

It took her a whole day to catch one fish, and that was with getting herself soaking wet in the process. Figuring out which vegetation she could eat and which were poisonous took even more time than that, because she had to observe and see which ones the animals ate without getting sick.

Of course there was also the problem of clothes. Within the first week, her modern t-shirt and jeans went to pieces. Her shoes certainly did not fare any better. Thank whatever god was in this world, some of the dwarves she'd scared off had slippery fingers and dropped a few things. With those meager supplies she managed to just scrape by.

Really, how ever did the elves managed to live in such elegance in the wild without any Target or Trader Joe's?

She looked like she was dressed in rags that even a mouse would have found too far gone for their bedding. And it takes days if not weeks to stock up her food supply. The lack of a decent toiletry, and hot showers made camping in Yosemite looked like a walk in the park.

That wasn't to mention all the effort she put into making the Ghost of Forlindon real. Her pale lips twisted slightly. Who knew an accidentally cracked wind chime could make a sound so similar to the screeching of a hungry baby.

She slowly stood up, wincing a bit as her knees creaked. Good lord, she was only in her mid-twenties, not some eighty-year-old granny. She ran an irate hand through the tangled strands before giving a self-deprecating laugh.

She lightly patted her cheeks with her hands: "Get your act together idiot, don't be such a ninny."

"If I die young," the words of the last song she listened to on the radio before she was so rudely dropped in this world came crashing back into her mind, "bury me in satin," she twirled around on the tip of her toes, "lay me down on a bed of rose, sink me in a river at dawn." she tossed back her head and let her voice echoed through the air. Singing always made her more relaxed. Probably because belting out something released some pent-up stress within, "Send me away with the words of a love song. Ah oh, ah oh. Lord make me a rainbow I'll shine down on my mother. She'll know I'm safe with you when she stands under my color. Oh, and life ain't always what you think it ought to be, no. Ain't even gray but she buries her bab..."

She glanced down away from the blue sky above her, and choked on the last syllable of the word at the scene in front of her. A golden hair elf stood in front of her with dozens more emerging from the forest. They stared at her; they stared at her as if she was a freak of nature.

Her heart thudded painfully inside her chest; they've come to kill her.

That wasn't fair, she helped them...A tear escaped the corner of her eyes. It's not fair.

She did not wait any longer for them to cut her down. She pushed off and ran.

"Wait!" Someone shouted behind her, but she ignored him.

Who in their right mind would wait to be slaughtered?

"Stop her! Stop the girl!"

Her chest contracted. This was worse. They knew...

She ran faster, but they drew closer.

Damn elven speed and stamina.

She was so preoccupied about getting away from the elves, she didn't even look to see where she was going, and she certainly did not hear the warning shouts from behind.

When she turned around to looked in front of her, she ran smack into a hard armor that stunk of sweat and sea salt. She nearly fell back down, but someone grabbed her hair and pulled her up roughly.

"This is the ghost you sea scum spoke of?" Rancid breath growled out beside her ear, "It's just a ugly brat."

She twisted her head, trying to see the man behind her, failing that, she only caught glimpse of the same group of pirates she had ran off previously.

"You brat..."

"Release the child!" a strong commanding voice cut off Rancid Breathe.

She looked back and saw the golden-haired elf staring at them, his golden eyes flashing angrily.

Rancid Breathe yanked her hair hard causing her to let out a pained yelp: "Or what? Pointy ears?" He sneered.

The rough edges of the armor plate Rancid Breathe wore dug into her skin, gauging out angry red lines.

A meaty hand palmed her chest.

"Ha, you tried to play ghost with me, girl? Me and my boys will show you somethin' to regret that!" Rancid breath breathed into her ear.

Her eyes widened as fear surged into her mind. _No...no...no...no..._

Her right hand went to her make-shift cloth boots, her fingers touched the cool handle of her dagger. In a flash, her right hand went to the edge of her skull and she sliced upwards. At the same time, she bent down and turned. Her hands dropped along with the wintry locks of her hair. The white strands drifted to the ground in swirls of feathery snow.

She slammed the dagger to its hilt into Rancid Breath's leg.

_No...no...she will not be demeaned...humiliated_

He let out a wild howl and sent her flying backwards in a hard kick. Adrenaline temporarily masked the pain and she scrambled up from the leafy ground, gasping for breath. Her hands with to the slits at the side of her ragged tunic, and from beneath the rough cloth she unhitched two small axes. Tears of fear and anger streamed down her face.

Five years ago she had no idea how these things work, but she was a quick learner. Fear of monsters in the night made her learned even faster.

Rancid Breath reached down to yank the dagger out. She didn't even wait for him to look back up. With a furious yell, she threw one of the axes at the bulky pirate.

The metal blade stopped with a dull thud in the man's cranium. She shuddered as blood ran from the wound. More tears poured out of her eyes.

_Must kill him...you have to...you have to..._

She'd just killed someone...but it was either that...or a worse sort of hell for her. She pushed the thought to the back of her mind and shot off the ground towards the falling body of Rancid Breath who had a look of utter surprise in his eyes.

She dislodged the axe and flew towards another unsuspecting sea rat; she flipped the same axe in her hand to turn it and sliced it across his unprotected windpipe. The other axe went to stop the advancing swipe of another pirate as they realized what she was doing.

Warm coppery blood sprayed her face as the first sea rat floundered back, red mixed with the tears streaming down her face. The Corsair's hands went to his throat in a vain attempt to stop the flow. She pushed back the second Corsair with a strangled cry. He moved back to circle around her warily.

"Don't ever touch me," she wanted to shout that, but her voice merely trembled and quavered; her arms too shook with fatigue, despair, and distress.

The Corsair roared something incomprehensible and jumped at her.

She didn't need anyone to tell her there was no way she could match her strength against this full grown pig. She dropped her axes and went back to what she knew. Her right leg instinctively slid to the right followed by her left foot, pulling her to the side. She grabbed the extended arm with the sword. Her right leg pivoted, her left leg hooked around his ankles and in one swift movement she threw the man over her using his own momentum.

The lump laid on the ground, groaning, momentarily knocked out.

Yet, another one came up to replace him. She stared at him, the pain from the kick before, now came back full blown. Her ribs ached and her muscles protested her movements with shots of burning pain.

She was no elf.

The runs through the forest and the whole effort she'd exerted were taking their tolls on her body that've just been getting by on fish and wild vegetations.

The Corsair came at her; she dropped to the ground and swept her legs beneath him. She bit back a wince as her cloth boots came in contact with hard metal plates.

The man went down but he immediately struggled up again.

_Help me...someone help me...save me...stop this nightmare...stop it..._

"Stop it..." she whispered, but it was lost in the din of the battle, "stop it..."

She swallow an urge to scream out in utter horror as she watched the man advanced on her. She shifted her weight slightly. Something shifted inside of her as well and she grabbed the front of her shirt with a cry as a tearing pain slashed through her.

Coppery taste welled up in her mouth and she coughed. Splatters of red liquid flew through the air.

Her actions only caused the Corsair to sneer and delight.

She couldn't move; if she moved she might crumple down in an undignified heap from the pain. So she stood there, helplessly watching the blood encrusted blade come closer.

The Corsair raised his blade, and she closed her eyes, hoping for a quick painless death.

A second later, instead of feeling any pain, she heard a loud clang and a strong arm encircled her, pulling her into a warm hold.

"Fear not, little one, no harm shall come to you whilst I live." A gentle yet strong voice murmured above her head.

She opened her eyes to the softness of a dark green tunic. Her eyelashes scraped against the cotton fabric; she turned her head slightly, startled by another clash of metal nearby. The hand moved from her shoulders to her head; long fingers settled over her eyes.

"Don't look," the same gentle voice murmured and her head was pushed back against the tunic. She would have protested if a particularly ghastly shriek didn't sounded right behind her just then. She let out a small cry of alarm, and her trembling hands reached up to grasp the soft fabric tightly.

She was no soldier. And this was no movie. College certainly did not prepare her for slaughtering. She knew without a doubt that from this day forward she would have nightmares each night of the men she killed and of the ghastly groans of dying men echoing about her. The way that skull split open, the blood red arteries and the sliver of white bones beneath...she would relive them all in her dreams.

She stared determinedly into the green cloth, memorizing each and every thread. Trying to push back any and every sound of the battle.

How long it took, she did not know, but to her it felt like an eternity before everything quieted. Even then, she refused to look anywhere else, fearing she would see another soulless eye staring up at her from the ground.

Words buzzed in her ear, but she couldn't make them out.

She just stood frozen there, unable to move.

The green fabric shifted slightly; she let the smooth cloth slip from her fingers, and her hand fell limply to her sides.

Golden eyes appeared in front of her, looking at her, looking into her.

She saw his mouth move again, but she couldn't hear anything other than the bloody roaring in her ear, pounding in her heart.

A cool hand went to her chin and lifted her face so her eyes met up with the two orbs of molten sunlight.

Habitual reflex overrode the fear in her mind; she flinched and tried to look away. However, he stopped her, his fingers gentle but firm.

"Look at me, little one," this time his words came through, like the tender lull of sea waves lapping against the sand.

Red eyes widened slightly as clarity broke through the hazy cloud of fear.

"I'm...not little..." She said, her voice wavered slightly, she clenched her hands and continued, "I'm...my...name is Miriel."

"Míriel?" the golden elf chuckled slightly. His golden eyes glowed brightly, "that is a beautiful name."

Miriel tried to give an incredulous snort that came out more as a choked gasp as she struggled to even out her voice: "It's not. Father wanted to name me Ariel, but mother wanted Miriam, so they compromised. And out came this silly name..." she breathed in deeply, "you can call me Miri. It's less of a mouthful."

Her twentieth-first century mind roared back into life, barraging through the dark haze of trauma and fear. A woman in her mid-20s with a college degree, a master's degree, and a set of divorced parents did not cling on to random guys in the forest.

That was just not done even if she had just witnessed World War III in the Yosemite.

She forced herself to step back from the elf, all the while taking in big gulps of air to settle her hammering pulse and heartbeat.

Her heel backed into something; instincts made her look down as she tried to balance herself. A half-decapitated pirate stared up at her with lifeless grey eyes. The head hung loosely, barely attached by the spinal core and the left half of its skin and muscle tissues. Already the blood was turning dark, as air interacted with the iron within the red liquid.

The tangy smell of blood mixed with iron and putrefying flesh permeated the air. The stench settled on her clothes, her arms, her skin...Her hands went up to the side of her head; her fingers pushed against her temple. It was as if her body was instinctively trying to physically push the horrifying images out of her head.

Dear god...

All these were very real...

That means all of them...Frodo, Aragorn, Gimli...all of them were very real as well. There was a real war going on outside of Forlindon.

Here there was an evil...an evil that existed...in its original heinous form.

Of course after the first few months, she kind of got the idea that this was a real world. However, this battle shoved the harsh reality straight into her soul.

Perhaps, some small part deep within her still believed this was all a dream, and that one day she will just wake up and go to work as usual.

But now...now even that small buried part have been obviated, smote beyond regeneration.

"Miriel..."

The golden elf called to her again, worry evident in his voice. Perhaps he thought she was going into shock, or insane...which perhaps she was.

With the mental strength she did not know she could ever possess, she shoved everything to the back of her mind. She closed her eyes, forcibly pushing down all fear within her. If...this was no time to be a ninny. Sauron's forces are attacking from the North. With their ships and their inhuman speed, they could reach Rivendell and Shire within days.

That must not happen.

She would be of no help, of course; however, she could not delay these people.

When she open her eyes again, her body still trembled from the surge of adrenaline and fear, but her voice had evened out.

"My name is Miriel. I thank you for your help," she said with a false calm that was not reflected within her heart.


	2. Chapter 2: A Beautiful Word

My dear readers, I thank you from the bottom of my heart for all your support and readership. After years of hiatus I am finally back. Reviews are always welcomed, whether they are commenting or criticizing.

I hope my story will bring you a brief respite from the harrying world of today, and take you into a land of fantasy where your own dreams may soar.

_Author_

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 2: A Beautiful Word<strong>

In books, in stories, in music, in movies…the heroine who fell into a whole new world would always be granted some sort of strength, power, or talent. Somewhere or another, the heroine would discover she actually had a hidden talent for archery, fencing, or something.

She'd been here five years and she had yet to stumble onto _her _gift.

Miriel couldn't possibly be a heroine, and she did not want to be. It's so easy to _write_ about wars, battles, and bloodshed. It's so easy to put _pen_ to _paper_ and say a noble warrior slayed a field of enemies with valiant strokes of his sword.

Yet, as images of broken bodies strewn across the forest floor filled her eyes, she felt no awe or glory from this battle. Instead, she felt sick.

This was no dream…this was a nightmare.

Her trembling legs brought her backed up against the rough bark of a tree. Her hands went up to her head. She closed her eyes again, trying to shut off all and everything.

"Little one…Miriel…" the slightly lilting voice called her name again.

Her eyes snapped open only to meet a pair of familiar golden eyes. Red irises widened at his new proximity. When did he…?

Standing a mere foot away from her, he made Miriel feel claustrophobic. There was something about the elf that made his presence overwhelming…overwhelmingly warm, gentle, and impossibly brilliant.

It was like having a sun in front of her.

"Stop it…." She breathed in sharply, "please just…go and leave me alone."

"I will not leave you here alone. A child like you cannot be left in these woods alone in such dangerous times." The golden elf said softly as he knelt down in front of her, his golden eyes burning into her very soul with its scalding warmth.

The coarse surface of the tree trunk scraped against her back and her wobbling legs stumbled against the gnarled roots protruding from the ground, reminding her there was nowhere for her to run anymore.

She clenched her hands, silently berating herself for being a coward. Her nails dug into the skin of her palm and she forced herself to meeting the blazing eyes of the golden elf.

"I'm fine here. I'm alright…please….just go away." She repeated numbly. All her vocabulary, thoughts, and coherence burned to ash by the golden radiance in front of her.

"We will not hurt you, little one, please, be calm," his gentle voice sought to soothe her, but it only agitated Miriel further.

She spent the last five years talking to animals of various kinds, trees, and other immobile objects. All the memories she had of living breathing beings were their insincerity, cruelty, mockery, and selfishness. Yet, those, she could take. Evil she could understand. After all, she had dealt with the superficiality and callousness of men since her birth.

It's not thoughts of pessimism or teenager's dark morbid emotions.

It was pure fact.

Even little children could be so cruel when they see someone different from themselves.

Freak…monster…lab rat…vampire…weirdo…she'd heard them all.

But this…this sincerity and the kindness, it unsettled her even though she knew from the book she'd read that elves were often very kind beings. Even Gandalf, the wizard, had been a grandfatherly figure.

However, literature was literature, this…this was real. She could feel the warmth radiating out from the golden elf in front of her, and she could feel the discomfort within herself arising from the other elves' stares.

A sudden warm touch on her cold clammy skin of one of her arms caused her to let out a small shriek; she instinctively flinched away from the touch. Her pupils dilated immediately from a fear automatically generated within her mind.

"Forgive me," the sorrowful tone of the golden elf's voice made her, once again, fasten her eyes on the being. He looked so sincerely apologetic and distressed at causing her pain that Miriel couldn't help but feel guilty.

"No…please…it's quite alright…" she breathed out choppily and managed a tremor of a smile, "no harm done. It's a bad habit….I have yet to break…I didn't mean to scare you…erm…" she faltered slightly at his name.

"I am Glorfindel of Rivendell, little one," the elf smiled.

The name struck a chord of familiarity in Miriel's mind. Old dusty pages of memory flipped open in her mind, and her eyes widened in recognition.

"You…" breathing was starting to become a problem now, "you are…Glorfindel…Glorfindel of…of Gondolin? The…the chief of the House of the Golden Flower….the one in the Battle of Unnumbered Tears?"

There was a sharp breeze near her brow; the sharp point of a well-honed arrow suddenly appeared beside her temple strung on the bow held by another elf with brown hair. The golden eyes never left her and never grew dim with suspicion as the elf in front of her murmured something quietly in a language that fell as music to Miriel's ears.

She presumed it was Sindarin and directed at the elf holding the bow, because seconds later the arrow disappeared.

"You know of me, little one?" the golden elf, Glorfindel of Rivendell, asked gently.

Her head bobbed up and down jerkily.

"How do you know of me?"

She blinked owlishly; what the hell was she supposed to say? She read about his life and a bunch of other things in a book, because this world wasn't real, because he was only a fictional character who now stood in front of her as real as herself?

He'd kill her for being a loon or worse, throw her into a bare white room for the rest of her life.

She opened her mouth to lie, but found herself closing it as she met his eyes again. His warmth and kindness made her uneasy, but that didn't mean she couldn't feel their sincerity…his sincerity.

And that sincerity touched her…his warmth made her heart ache, and she found herself unable to lie to him.

"I just know…like many other things…" she replied quietly, her red eyes darkened by a haunting shadow, "which is why I cannot leave this forest. If I leave…if…if someone….evil sees my mind…this world will never be saved…"

Given that she has two good legs, she could have easily walked out of here and perhaps find a human village somewhere and live out her life. However, Sauron and his henchmen had a nasty habit of knowing things and turning up in random places. Out here, near the ocean, the sea where the elves sailed off to eternity, she could at least be assured of some safety. If she ventured southward, with her distinctive color, interests might be stirred and her accidentally-begotten knowledge might fall into the wrongs hands.

It wasn't as if she'd go blabbing about it on the street. However, she was quite confident that she would not be able to stand any kind of tortures or threats very well and for any duration.

"Of what sorcery you are trying to weave, witch?" the elf who had pulled an arrow on her asked in a thickly accented tone, his dark green eyes narrowed with suspicion.

"None," she snapped, her voice still trembled but fatigue made her bold with irritation; she wanted to get this over with and go find a place to doze off in peace, "There…there is a war…going on," she turned to the brown-haired elf; her red eyes flashed angrily, "Sauron is trying to retrieve his Ring and encompass these lands in darkness." Her voice gradually grew stronger as annoyance seeped into her voice, "If I wished to weave sorcery or spells, I'd weave out an isolated island and get myself away from all these blood and violence. I wouldn't be here, hiding in some shrubbery, while trying to explain myself to you lot."

She huffed slightly as she finished, taking in more oxygen to compensate for the amount she'd lost in the outburst. But as she breathed deeper, her sides protested painfully. She wrinkled her nose at the pain, biting back the wince bubbling up at the back of her throat.

She felt like a bull just kicked her in the ribs; those particular bone components of her skeleton throbbed and sent shocks of red hot searing pain in constant intervals.

"Now, will you all just go away and let me die in peace so the world as you all know it will go on turning and not fall into some dark oblivion or what not?" She barked and waved a dismissive hand; once again her bruised ribs filed a protest, and the grimace of suffering refused to be silent and she let out a small wince. She concentrated at the dirt beneath her feet and focused on breathing evenly to stop the pain.

There was a moment of silence, most likely because the elves were probably deciding whether to shoot her on the spot or leave her behind to let her wallow in her own lunacy.

"No."

Her head snapped up to meet the golden eyes, once again blazing. She narrowed her eyes and let out a small breath before she asked: "What part of leave me alone do you not understand?"

"I understand your words perfectly, little one." The golden elf replied calmly.

Irritation furrowed Miriel's brow and she took in a deep breath, preparing herself to let loose a tirade of yelling. However, the mere act of breathing in deeply sent jabs of consecutive jarring pain up her side, and spreading out in her body. Miriel cradled her bruised ribs with a wince.

"Ow…ow…ow…bloody damn effing freaking hell," Miriel panted, pained cold sweat beaded about her forehead. She collapsed against the tree, her legs trembled as mere will and pride held her up.

She clenched her eyes shut, willing fervently that the pain would go away.

Her breath came rattling out of her in shuddering gasps.

"God…." She clenched out, "dear freaking god." Molten fire coursed through her body, carving out deep gullets of throbbing pain.

She let out a whimper as all the world around her faded into one pitch black darkness of unending pain. Thunder roared in her ears, and the earth shifted beneath her. Her senses swarm. Her hands scrabbled against the rough bark of the tree for more support. The roaring in her ears grew louder and she felt herself falling as her strength failed her.

Dimly, as unconsciousness relieved her from the world of pain, she thanked god for knocking her out before she fell into the cold and hard embrace of the earth.

Whenever she dreamed she was always cold and always running away from something or someone wanting to kill her. A psychologist or a therapist would tell her that during the day she was too stressed and the unsolved stress followed her into her sleep, slipping into her unconsciousness while her brain worked overtime even as she tried to rest.

This time was no different.

Cold darkness covered her like a wet blanket. Echoes of thundering footsteps grew louder and louder even as she tried to run faster away from the unseen enemies. Inexplicable fear filled her: the dread gathered in her stomach, her hand grew cold and clammy, and the back of her head ached as adrenaline filled her mind.

Incoherent snarls and growls snapped at her heels.

She pushed herself to run even faster.

Her breath tore out of her in painful rasps.

Suddenly the ground disappeared beneath her, and she freefell through the shadows. Seconds later she splashed into a pool of cold mud. Flailing her arms wildly, she managed to surface from the muck. She opened her eyes only to see lifeless bodies of Corsairs floating around her, staring at her with their soulless eyes. The smell of putrefaction, rotting flesh, and old blood permeated the air.

A movement in the corner of her eyes caught her attention. With some difficulty she turned around in the thick sludge.

Correction…the bodies were not lifeless…

A Corsair, who logically should be dead with half of his head missing, was slowly crawling towards her. Another dead man with an arrow through his left eye followed his lead.

Miriel did the only thing possible in this situation: she screamed and tried to move away.

However, the mud sucked her down into its depth; its foulness filled her mouth, slowly suffocating her. As she stood a mere breath away from insanity, a strong voice shattered through the cold darkness.

The words were foreign to her, but for some strange reasons they comforted her. The mud fell away into nothingness, and a warm golden light shone through, surrounding her in its warmth. She opened her eyes hesitantly, fearing once again she might see the dead bodies. However, this time she found herself lying in a field of small golden flowers basking under the golden radiance of the sun.

She let out a slow shuddering breath as she slowly stood up, glancing around her incredulously. Her mind, still in overdrive from the adrenaline, forced her to stare around her fearfully with measured caution.

She felt safe and warm, but her mind trembled with fear still and with good reason; never once in her nightmares had she ever found reprieve until she wake up screaming and covered in cold sweat of horror

The same voice she had heard in the depths of the cold mud returned.

_Na sîdh, pînmîn. Peace, little one._

_Bann le si. You are safe now. _

_Algroga le. Fear not. _

_Le bann ah enni. You are safe with me. _

She stared around her wildly, but saw no one.

"Who…who are you….Where are you?" Miriel demanded, but the force of the words was dulled by the tremor in her voice.

A gust of soft gentle wind blew through the field of golden flowers, stirring up a flurry of golden petals, sending them up into the air. They slowly drifted back down in a brilliant drizzle of golden snowflakes.

A golden radiance appeared amidst the petals in front of Miriel.

She raised a hand to shade her eyes from the brightness. Slowly, the light dimmed and a figure appeared.

"You…Glorfindel…" She let out a shocked gasp when she saw the familiar face.

The golden elf lord smiled gently and held out his right hand: "Come, you need to rest."

She stared at the proffered hand first in surprise then in uncertainty; her body reacted faster than her mind and she stumbled backwards a step.

Unbeknownst to her, the sky darkened slightly. At the edge of the horizon, flowers wilted.

"Miriel, faen galad ned mírdan (radiant light of jewels), trust in me. Let me protect you and chase away the dark demons you fear." Glorfindel said softly.

The fear within her mind took over; Miriel shook her head, clasping her hands protecting over her chest.

"No…no…you are here to kill me…you are not safe….you are not safe…"

Thunder roared and the sky darkened noticeably; a flash of lightening cleaved apart the gloomy sky. Slivers of icy rain drops fell through the gap. Golden flowers withered in waves. Yet the elf's golden eyes never left her own red ones.

"Pînmîn, little one, I pray, trust me. Come hither. Do not let the darkness overcome you," he said, his voice strong over the rising wind whipping about them.

Red eyes stared at him before looking over him at the darkened horizon where figures of dead Corsairs could be seen clambering over the field of rotten flowers towards her. She turned around and stared behind her, the same monstrous scene greeted her.

"No…" terror slowly devoured her sanity, "no…" she sobbed as tears fell down her face, turning into ice crystals by the freezing wind howling through the field, "no…" she clenched her head and screamed, "NO~~~!"

"Gare bronwe (have faith)!" The golden elf's voice cut through the growing coldness and chaos, "Look at me! Miriel, look at me." Her eyes snapped open at the command, and she looked into his golden eyes.

"Do not let the darkness overcome you. Take my hand, have faith, and let me fight for you." His golden hair flew wildly in the storm, shrouding him in a brilliance of golden light like an avenging angel.

Miriel stared at the hand, still offered to her.

Have faith…

She glanced around her at the world that was crumpling from the attack of a violent tempest. She looked back at the angel standing in front of her.

"Faith…" she whispered.

She let out a small smile and repeated; it's a beautiful word: "Faith…"

She jumped just as a hand of putrid death grabbed at her from behind.

"Bann se, ú-chebin bann. You are safe now; I will keep you safe." The golden elf whispered as he held her tightly in his embrace.

He raised his hand and powerful words rang out in the storm; golden light filled the darkness and everything faded into the white light of shattered silver glass.

The sound of what seemed to be a curious five-year-old pulling the bow across an old violin brought her back into the waking world again. The noise befuddled her disorientated brain. Her eyes snapped open and an exquisitely carved wooden dome came into her view.

The same sound echoed across the room again, but this time it wasn't as loud and she recognized it for what it was: the call of a seagull. But the sound of the sea bird confused her even more, for these avian creatures did not venture as far inland as the Forest of Forlindon.

And…the last time she checked there were no elegant housing structures with comfortable beds in the forest either.

If her body didn't ache as if a herd of elephants followed by a parade of army tank had rolled over it, she would have jumped out of the bed in apprehension. However, given the soreness, she made do with slow but deliberate motions of pushing back the cover and standing up rather unsteadily.

Ignoring the fact that she was only clad in a night slip, she started towards the door. She made it to the foot of the bed before she had to hang onto the edge of the bedpost, gasping for breath. She closed her eyes as a wave of dizziness assaulted her.

"Little one, you should be in bed. You have yet to recover. You must not overwrought your body as it heals." A voice suddenly sounded a few feet away, from the doorway where the oak barrier had swung open noiselessly.

Caught by surprise, she instinctively tried to step away from the voice even as her eyes slowly creaked open. However, her body was too stiff to respond as usual, and instead of backing away, she stumbled.

Her arms were unable to hold onto the bedpost for support and she fell towards the ground. However, instead of landing on her butt for her clumsiness, someone caught her in a warm hold.

She tilted her head slightly and saw a familiar face looking down at her.

Somehow Glorfindel had caught her with a mix of inhuman reflexes and speed.

"You are not feeling well; you need to rest," he said as he laid her back on the bed gently and started to pull the cover over her.

Unused to the attention and the care after so many years alone, Miriel waved away his hands and struggled to a sitting position. She looked off towards the balcony and said faintly: "I'm fine."

He laid a finger under her chin and slowly turned her head to face him: "You have been severely injured, and years of living constantly on guard alone has done grievous injury to your mind. A grown man wouldn't be well."

She shifted away from his hand, towards the other side of the bed: "I am alright," she snapped, her hands clenching the cover tightly. As soon as the words left her she regretted the harsh tone. She winced; her nails digging into the soft fabric of the cover.

Damn, the elf did save her after all, and here she was, being an absolute arse.

"I mean…" she closed her eyes, trying to force her sluggish brain to work, "I'm fine. You don't need to trouble yourself over me. I…I will return to the Forest of Forlindon as soon as possible."

"You can stay here."

"No, no matter where 'here' is, I cannot."

"You are in Mithlond, little one, and you can stay here as long as you wish. No harm shall come to you whilst you are here."

Miriel turned her head slowly; she glanced back at the golden-haired elf silently.

She wanted to stay; she wanted to be safe. However, _she _wasn't safe. By now Frodo would be close if not already in Mordor, and she did not want to jeopardize any chance of having that blasted ring thrown into the fires of Mt. Doom.

"The knowledge of future need not be a burden, little one. The future holds uncountable possibilities. What you know may not come to pass. You need not fear it."

Her eyes widened and she scooted back to the corner opposite the elf: "How…how did you…"

The elf held up a hand to pacify her: "You told me so yourself, did you not? The world may never be saved if the darkness knew what you did."

Miriel's breath caught in her throat, but she forced it down; she looked down at her trembling hands: "It must come to pass. It has to."

A warm hand reached over to cover her shaking fingers; she looked up at the elf desperately: "Don't you understand? Sauron must not get the Ring. Aragorn must live to lead the human race in the Fourth Age."

At the mention of the Isildur heir's name, a look of sadness passed through the elf's face: "I do, little one, I do understand."

The feeling was so profoundly deep and visible even Miriel couldn't help but catch it.

"You…you don't like him?"

Golden eyes dulled to a grief-stricken light brown; long elegant fingers clenched Miriel's hand. However this time they weren't there to comfort her, instead, it seemed he was the one seeking comfort.

"Sometimes Eru could be so cruel, could he not?" Glorfindel murmured almost to himself as he stared out the balcony into the morning sky.

Miriel stared at him bewilderedly, utterly confused.

"And who knew an elf could be so petty and selfish," the golden elf laughed self-depreciatingly as his hands loosen from hers and he slowly stood up, his mind seemingly in another world.

"I don't understand," Miriel said puzzled.

As if her voice had called him back into this world, the elf's golden eyes refocused as they turned back to her; however the mist of sadness remained painfully obvious, surrounding, shrouding his entire being.

"It is nothing, little one, there are some things you will not understand until later in your life," the elf gave a heartbreakingly beautiful smile tinged with sorrows.

Miriel raised an eyebrow; how old did the damn elf thought she was? At the ripe age of twenty-four she was no child. She opened her mouth to protest; however the elf held a hand to his chest and bowed shallowly.

"Rest well, little one. Have no fear whilst I am here. Nothing shall harm you; I give you my word." With that he turned and left the room, closing the door softly behind him.

She stared dazedly after him.

"What the hell….?" She grumbled; the book failed to mention Glorfindel was schizophrenic. One moment he was all saintly goodness and the next he fell into a deep dark depression.

While her brain was inclined towards thinking more on the subject her barely healed body protested. She slowly slipped down to the bed drowsily with the image of a distressed elf floating in her mind.


	3. Chapter 3: Fair Elf, What Troubles You

**Chapter 3: Fair Elf, What Troubles You**

Having never broken any bones in her body, Miriel never knew it would take so long for her to recover from two broken ribs, and three fractured ones. Of course, the fact that she was also slightly malnourished might also have something to do with it. Who knew she could be calcium deficient living off fishes and wild vegetations.

Glorfindel of Rivendell was different than what Miriel had pictured in her mind when she read the book. When Frodo was in the Council of Elrond, he had described the golden elf as:

_Glorfindel was tall and straight; his hair was of shining gold, his face fair and young and fearless and full of joy; his eyes were bright and keen, and his voice like music; on his brow sat wisdom, and his hand was strength._

Apparently Frodo lied.

Well, no, that was too harsh of a condemnation. Glorfindel did stand tall and straight, no hunch back or anything. In fact, he was the epitome of beauty.

Even angels would have paled standing next to him. Sculpted cheeks, determined yet not too stubborn chin, graceful jaw line, perfectly shaped lips, and a lithe figure to match, he was pure Adonis. His hair was gold; no, not blond, but pure gold strands of liquid sunlight that would have made any aspiring blond Garnier models turn green with envy. His eyes were pure molten gold; every time she looked into them she lost all coherence and the whole world disappeared.

He had a look of wisdom about him and in the way he spoke, and Miriel knew from first-hand experience that he wield his sword with strength and skills. She had also heard his voice enough time to accept that it did sound like music. In fact, it made her own words sound like sandpaper grating against wood.

However, his eyes….his eyes were not bright at all. Yes, there were occasions when they burn with flames of life and strength. However, many times as she wandered through the stony archways of Mithlond she had seen him, from far away, staring off into the distant horizon with such a look of sorrow that she could feel her own heart break into for his pain.

In those times, his eyes did not blaze with golden fire; instead, they were dark, almost brown, and dull without any light. It was as if his soul had been torn from him, leaving a mere empty husk behind.

She was the last person her friends would have called nosy or even curious, but this time, she wanted to know. She wanted to know why an elf known for his valor, his strength, his joie du vie, his power rivaling a Maia would look so…so despondent, or for the lack of better words, looked as if he had been heartbroken.

Yes…heartbroken.

While Miriel had never experienced the modern Greek tragedy before, she had seen enough of her friends after breakups to know that look. It was a look as if the whole world had ended. It was a look as if they no longer wanted to go out, eat, move, breathe, or even live. If the whole world came crashing down upon them, they would not care because the pain within, the pain in their heart was already excruciating. It was as if someone had taken a knife, shoved it into their heart, twisted it, and pulled it out.

It was that look; she was sure of it.

Yet, what she couldn't understand was why he had that look.

In the book his end was never specified. However, nor did it mention him having fell in love with anyone, much less losing someone precious to him. In the book he had always been described with a fire of youth and fieriness that other elves lacked because the latter had seen too much and for too long.

There was no fire in this Glorfindel.

And for once, Miriel wondered if this world was, maybe, not the same world the book was based on. As the golden elf pointed out, the future was not set in stone, it could change, and if the future could change then perhaps the storyline of this book and the characters within could change as well. These thoughts ran through her mind as she caught sight of the said elf from a distance.

Standing a few feet away, hidden in the shadows of a stony column Miriel watched the golden elf. Once again, he was staring off into the darkening sky.

Miriel had noticed, whenever he was in this mood, it was always during the time the sun was setting, in the early evening. And he would always be staring West, towards the setting sun. And after a while, she also noticed, he wasn't just staring at the sky in general, but a particular spot of the sky. However, given the fact that Miriel wasn't even remotely proficient at astronomy she held no clue as to what he could possibly be staring at.

She could have asked a passerby; however, there were several problems.

Elves, as described in the book, were quiet and polite beings. In fact, they gave her a rather wide berth. But then again, there weren't that many elves here in the nearly deserted Mithlond to begin with. Most of the elves came to sail off to the Undying Land, and they weren't particularly talkative. Most spent their days in silent pondering and farewells to this earth.

The soldiers whom she had seen in the forest spent their days outside of Mithlond, training and guarding the haven.

Even if there she found someone to talk to around here, she still wouldn't be able to ask. She couldn't possibly ask. It would felt wrong; it would felt as if she was prying into private businesses.

And lastly, she did not want to be noisy. She had not been noisy in her previous life, and she certainly did not want to start now.

Of course, that left the option of going up to the guy and just ask him. However, that would just be awkward, because firstly she did not know him that well, and secondly, she did not want to disturb him when he looked so downcast, not for any reason and certainly not for such a silly one as curiosity about his love life.

However, today, she must go and talk to him, because today, she was leaving. After days of resting and medicine, she was finally strong enough to leave the safe abode of Mithlond and return to the forest whence she came. But before she leaves, she must say farewell to the elf who saved her, and returned her sanity after so many years of loneliness.

Her heart clenched slightly and an inexplicable sourness bubbled up at the back of her throat. Before him, her heart had been shattered so many times. He had been the last straw, the last chance to prove that her heart could still trust, and she thanked God that the last straw had been him.

He reminded her that there were still some good in this world for her, someone who cared for her, even if he saw her as a mere child.

Humans were not made to be alone. She never noticed it before, but when someone truly cared, there was a warm feeling that welled up from deep within to surround her.

She had always thought she would be alright alone. She enjoyed spending time with friends, but sometimes she looked upon social interactions as burdens and chores. And she thought when she grew old she would buy a small isolated cabin deep in the forest of Canada and live there alone.

Four years in the Forest of Forlindon taught her that humans were not made to be alone.

The warmth, the laughter, the sorrows, and everything else generated between people were necessary.

Most importantly, genuine care was necessary.

And perhaps…just perhaps…all the heartaches, betrayals, and pains were worth it if just to find someone who cared.

"Miriel, little one, what brings you here," the words echoed down the hall, etched with profound sorrow, cutting into her thoughts.

Her head snapped up to see the golden elf had turned away from the now dark sky and was looking at the shadowed corner she stood in.

Damn, how did he see her? Did he have x-ray vision or something?

As if seeing her thoughts in a comic thought bubble floating above her head; he said quietly, amusement barely covered the sadness in his voice: "I felt the turbulence in your thoughts, surrounding you. I believe within the entire Lindon only you have such troubled thoughts, and at such young age as well."

Miriel stepped out of the shadows and slowly approached him. She tilted her head slightly; words escaped out of her mouth before they could circle through her mind: "Really? I don't think I'm the only one because you looked more devastated than I am."

Instead of being taken back by her blunt words, the golden elf merely chuckled slightly, his eyes brightened slightly before dimming as he looked back out into the night sky: "You are rather perceptive for one your age."

She had been just about to apologize for her brusqueness when he replied; she raised an eyebrow: "I am twenty-four-year-old. I'm human, not stupid, and certainly not blind," she turned away from him and muttered under her breath, "just surprised that's all."

"Surprised?" Glorfindel turned back to her, his keen elven ears caught the quietly whispered words.

Miriel cursed herself silently for forgetting elves' acute hearing.

She bit her lips awkwardly as golden eyes studied her.

"Ah…I see," the golden elf chuckled again, "I am unlike what you have seen in the knowledge of future you hold."

She gaped at him; was this man even human?

Damn, no, of course he wasn't. He was an elf, but she didn't know elves could read minds.

"Human emotions and thoughts have always been unconcealed and honest," the golden elf answered her second silent question.

"Really? You can read my mind from just what my face look like?" She crossed her arms, pursing her lips in mild annoyance.

Glorfindel bowed slightly: "I apologize if it offended you, but to us it is as if they were mere words spoken out loud. We cannot ignore it."

Miriel scowled slightly: "I am not offended, just slightly irritated," she laughed dryly, "but I suppose it cannot be helped. Elves are master at controlling all their emotions and façade. It is only natural for you to be able to read us easily for we cannot control our thoughts and emotions as well."

Her words seemed to have given Glorfindel pause, because he stared at her for a few moments before he gave a melancholy smile: "Control our emotions? Perhaps for most emotions, but nay, not all."

"You…"

"Again, I surprise you?"

"I…yes…" she admitted honestly.

"You are curious."

"Sorry…"

A soft chuckle escaped the elf: "It is understandable, little one. You wish to know why and how I am different from the elf you saw in the future. Curiosity is human nature."

"No!"

Her outburst caused the elf to raise an eyebrow.

Miriel bit her lips and said in a quieter voice: "I am normally not curious…" her fingers curled into fists, "I usually wouldn't care. But…" his gaze invited her to continue, "but…like you said you can feel the turbulence in my thought…that sadness…it's…it's painful. It's almost as if I can see a knife being driven into your soul."

Her words seemed to have stunned the elf, because the dark orbs of his eyes suddenly flared up brightly: "You are quite a unique Atani (Second People)."

"You probably think I'm being overly dramatic or even lying, but I am speaking the truth," her hands reached to the banister of the balcony and clenched it tightly, "it is like watching…I mean looking at a sad painting, I wish…it makes me want to cry."

"I know you speak the truth, little one," the elf said softly; she turned to look at him and he gave her a gentle smile, "I can see it, remember?"

Miriel chuckled: "yeah, I guess," her hands released the balcony and she wiped them on the soft cloth of her tunic, "anyways….I'm not here to pry; I just passed by to say goodbye."

"I see; you do not wish to stay here."

"It's not the question of whether I want to or not. It's more like I do not want to be a burden nor do I want to bring trouble. And besides, this is not my home. I am not one of you. Actually, to be honest, I think I am not one of any." She finished with an almost bitter tone.

"You are welcome here, do you understand, little one? We do not think of you as a burden or trouble."

"I know," Miriel fluttered a hand, "but you are elves. You'd be kind to anyone. I do not want to take advantage of that."

"Take advantage?" Glorfindel frowned slightly, "I do not understand your meaning."

Miriel clasped her hands together tightly, struggling to put her thoughts into words: "I just…"

"Laurefinde," a foreign voice echoed down the hallway. The previous two occupant of the balcony turned to see, strangely enough, a bearded silver-haired elf walking swiftly over to them. Despite the silver beard adorning his chin and cheek, his face was as youthful as most elves. He had a kind fatherly aurora about him that seemed to hint he was the sort of elf who smiled easily and listened readily.

Yet, tonight, there was not even a small glint of laughter in his façade. His youthful face was drawn with worry and his quick steps bespoke a sense of great urgency.

"Master Shipwright Círdan," Glorfindel frowned sensing the other elf's apprehension, "what ails thee?" His accent seemed to thicken; his words more lyrical and lilted as he felt the waves of worry rolled off the silver-haired elf. Yet, he spoke in Common Tongue, perhaps so Miriel could understand.

"Follow I," Círdan said with a curt nod before turning around, his silvery blue robe swept across the cobbled ground in one swift tense stroke, "a messenger hath returned from the legion guarding the mouth of the vale."

Glorfindel turned to follow, yet Miriel remained behind, standing there uncertain of whether she should follow or leave.

As if sensing her dilemma, the golden-haired elf sudden turned slightly and beckoned with a hand: "Come, little one."

Miriel took two tentative steps forward: "I'm…."

Placing his hand at the small of her back, the golden elf lord propelled her forward as he resumed walking again. He smiled reassuringly at her before turning away from her and looked to the front.

They meandered through the stone halls of Mithlond in a heavy silence that was nearly suffocating until finally the Círdan stopped in front of a door. He pushed it open and went in, Glorfindel followed, guiding Miriel in as well with his hand still on her back.

In the center of the room several elves hovered about a bed. As Círdan approached, the elves moved away to reveal a heavily bandaged elf lying between the sheets. The bedridden elf no doubt suffered grievous injuries, for his face had none of the glow Miriel usually saw in elves. Instead, it was ashen and carved with deep lines of wariness and toil.

(Hîr Círdan,) the breath rattled in the elf's throat as he gasped out. The silver-haired elf pushed back the heavy robe of his cloth and sat down on the edge of the bed, holding the trembling hands of the injured elf.

(Tell us what you know, brave Himrien.) Círdan prompted quietly.

(The goblins….more than 5 legions strong….) Himrien rasped out. Unlike the Roman legion which consisted of 6,000 men, the legion used in this sense consisted of 100~200 soldiers. 5 legions of goblins meant between 500 to nearly 1,000.

"Yrch (orcs/goblins), 1000 of them," Glorfindel's lips thinned grimly.

Himrien coughed, blood dripped down the corner of his lips which the healers hurried to wipe away: (and a torog groth….we could not stop….them…too many….five leagues out) tears fell down the elf's weary face, (we are lost….).

Círdan leaned down, clenching the elf's hands tightly in his: (Never, my dear Himrien, never. We never be lost, not if we fight to the last elf. Not if we stand strong against the onslaught of darkness. You have done well, now, you rest.)

The Shipwright placed two fingers on the elf's forehead and murmured something. A light glowed brightly around his fingers for a few seconds before fading away. When it did, the injured elf's face had relaxed and he fell into a peaceful slumber.

Yet there was no peace or rest for the rest.

Círdan turned to Glorfindel grimly: "5 Legions of goblins and cave trolls, we have not the manpower to fight back such attack."

These words, finally spoken in Common Tongue, made Miriel's eyes widened in fear and trepidation. She started trembling, unstoppably. Glorfindel must have felt her panic, because his hand moved to her shoulder and he pressed down lightly, warm reassurance suddenly flooded her.

"Fear not, Círdan, Grey Haven will not fall," Glorfindel said calmly, his golden eyes flashed brightly, "I will not allow it."

Miriel glanced up at him with doubt and surprise; how could he be so sure? There were nearly one thousand enemy soldiers heading towards them, bent on destroying this elven city. Even adding together the Legion at the entrance of the valley and the other miscellaneous elves within the city, there were barely 300.

Yet, Círdan merely smiled back tiredly, seemingly untroubled by the bold statement: "I understand, my dear friend, but my heart aches at seeing more of the young ones going through such dark times and pains." His silvery eyes turned to Miriel as he continued, "the ravages of darkness can stay with us even after the war pass and the peace settle."

Miriel's fingers clenched the hem of her tunic tightly, her nails digging into the soft fabric. Yes…in this safe haven her nightmares had diminished, yet the darkness always hovered at the edge of her consciousness. The images of the dead littering the forest ground were always visible in the back of her mind.

Gentle hands lightly patted her shoulder and she looked up at the source; golden eyes shone brightly at her before returning to look at the Shipwright.

"We fight so the children in the future would not have to."

"Wise words, my friend, wise words," Círdan nodded, "come then, we have much to do and little time. The dark forces of Sauron would attack before midnight."

Glorfindel nodded before he turned back to Miriel: "Come, little one, I will escort you back to your room. And tonight, stay there, do not come out. This night will not be a fair sight."

Miriel nodded mechanically; already, her heart shuddered at the thought of another war, this time with more adversaries, whose sole aim is the destruction of a city and perhaps, an entire race.

She let herself to be led numbly towards her room.

"Are you frightened, little one?" Glorfindel asked softly, standing in her doorway.

Miriel nodded, a tear slipped out: "Are you not?"

The golden elf bent slightly; his warm fingers scraped away the tear trail gently from her cold pale face: "I'd be a fool to not be."

"Then why…"

"Because there's something in this world worth fighting," Glorfindel replied quietly with a sorrowful smile, "worth dying for."

"Your lady?" she asked bluntly.

Again, the elf did not seem to mind her candor; instead he gave a small chuckle: "When you have a person your care for deeply, you will want to keep her safe, protect her. When you want to protect her you will fight for her despite how scared you are."

"So you can go back to her, the one waiting for you?"

For a moment the light all but completely extinguished from the golden eyes, and he said nothing.

"I'm….sor…."

The heartbreakingly pained smile returned: "There is no one waiting for me, little one."

"I don't understand…"

"The one I love….waits for another," he said in a voice so soft, it was all but a whisper.

Miriel clenched her hands together in mortification: "I'm sorry!"

"There's no reason for you to be," the golden elf said as he gently tug a strand of her pale lock, chopped short from the skirmish in the forest, "stay safe, little one. Fear not, no harm shall come to you, I gave you my word." He turned around to leave.

Yet, she couldn't let him leave with such look in his eyes, a look as if he wished to die tonight.

She reached out and grabbed the edge of his golden robes; the elf turned slightly in question.

"You'd better come back. I'm waiting for you. If you don't come back I'll go and hunt you down, I swear. I…this place's always cloudy, if that golden head of yours is not here, I wouldn't get any proper lighting…." A flush worked its way to her cheeks as the words spilled out of her awkwardly.

The golden elf laughed, really laughed, not a sad chuckle or a pained smile, but a real laugh.

He reached out and gently tapped her chin; she raised her eyes to meet his. The golden light returned to shine brightly in his eyes.

"I will return, little one, have no fear."

Miriel crossed her arms stubbornly: "Promise?"

"I give thee my word," and in a swirl of golden robe he was gone.

Miriel stared at the closed door as the rest of Mithlond fell into an ominously still silence. In a normal human citadel, perhaps she would hear heavy footsteps and the metal clinks of armors, yet she heard nothing here, not even a yell or a shout.

She turned around and headed over to the balcony. There, looking out into the normally peaceful and empty courtyard, she could see grey shadows fleeting about.

Once again war knocked on her doorstep, and like déjà vu there was nothing she could do except to sit and watch the world fall into chaos around her.

She clenched her hands tightly until the nails bit sharply into the skin of her palm. She was so frighten. She was scared witless. Fear had long settled over her, crushing her beneath the heavy boulder of its cold grasp.

Memories of the shrieks of dying men and the rancid smell of blood and sweat flooded back into her mind. Broken limbs, torn armors, and blood rusted sword dotted the forest floor.

Her breath came out faster and faster; her palms grew clammy and cold. Her chest constricted and her heart clenched painfully. She leaned her heated forehead against the cool stone column beside her. Even so, her body shook uncontrollably with horror at the anticipated slaughter happening outside the sanctum of her room.

Her knees trembled and knocked against each other. She slid down and knelt at the base of the stone pillar. She stared at the smooth pale surface of the colonnade, forcefully pushing back all thoughts of a violent and bloody war to the back of her mind.

How long she knelt there, she knew not.

But at last frantic whispers of words and shuffling of clothes outside her door pulled her back into reality. Slowly, she clambered up and inch by inch she made her way to the door. Her trembling fingers latched onto the doorknob and turned it counterclockwise in painfully slow motion.

The door creaked open a sliver.

From the small crack, she could see elves rushing up and down the hallway. Many where carrying injured soldiers between them, soldiers bleeding and dying. Her hands went up to her mouth, stifling a sob, as she watched blood dripped down a makeshift stretcher carrying an elf with his abdomen sliced open.

The crimson liquid spread through the linen stretcher and dribbled a trail down the hallway.

(Corsairs are attacking from the sea!) An elven soldier whispered to one of the elf carrying the stretcher.

(Nay…an attack from land and sea?) A look of disbelief spread out on the latter's face. He glanced down at the wounded soldier on the stretcher, (we may never make it past this night…)

The lyrical but foreign language passed through Miriel without any meaning. Yet from the dark look on the elves' face and the number of casualties, it did not look like they were winning.

She looked back to the bundle on her nightstand; her only luggage.

Leaving the door cracked open; she walked towards the nightstand. Her fingers clumsily struggled through the knots. At last untying the bundle, she reached in; her fingers touched the cool ceramics within.

She took it and tucked it between her belt and tunic. She found the two flint rings she had fashioned and twisted them onto her right thumb and index finger. Grabbing a smaller ceramic flask in the bundle, she secured that on her belt as well before sliding a dagger into her boots. Lastly, she took a bag of wood shards.

She took one last look around the room before slipping out the door.

With the rest of the world falling down around her, she easily made her way to the watchtower over the embankment. She did not exactly have a plan; her body merely mechanically went through the motions.

She glanced down the stony incline; the soldiers had retreated into the city, with the goblins clawing at the gate. Axes found their way into the wooden door. A large cave troll held a ram and was hammering the gates mercilessly while the goblins shouted on encouragements in bloodthirsty screeches.

All around her, she could hear cries and groans of the wounded.

In the darkest night of the year, Grey Havens was falling.

There was a frantic shout from the gate from one of the soldiers.

(We can hold on no longer!)

She did not understand the words, but she could hear the anguish behind the call.

She stared down at her shaking hands.

What was she doing here? She was no warrior. She was no one, nothing…she did not even know if this would work. What if it turns Grey Havens into a city of inferno instead?

She couldn't do this….she just couldn't…she was not trained for this…

Her head snapped up as the sound of wood cracking reached her ears. She glanced downward towards the gate only to see the mid portion of the door splintering.

She swallowed in trepidation; time had run out.

Grabbing the large ceramic bottle from her belt, she threw it out into the darkness with her left hand. At the same time her right hand threw out a pebble she picked up on the way. A faint ping verified the pebble reached its target.

Colorless liquid rained down on the unsuspecting goblins and cave troll who were preoccupied with tearing down the gates.

She held a sliver of wood shard tied onto a rock in her left hand and with practiced ease she snapped her fingers over it. Flames flickered into life on the small chip. She stared into the dark swarming mass below for a few seconds before she tossed the ember downwards.

A horrifying shriek sounded as the ember lit up the goblin it landed on like a Roman candle. The goblin flailed about in agony as flame consumed him alive while his comrade watched on in horror, for everyone he touched burst into flames as well.

After the initial stunned silence, the goblins began pushing away in disorganized escapes. Yet, the flame was merciless. It jumped from one victim to the next without pause. Tortured screams echoed the valley into a living hell.

The wearied and worn elves stared out in disbelief at the roaring inferno beyond their previously besieged gates.

Tears fell down her face even as she covered her ears, trying to shut out the nightmarish shrieks of suffering. Yet, one particular goblin caught her eyes. It sat on a giant scorpion, watching on with indifference as his follow soldiers suffered. Suddenly, it growled something incomprehensible to the scorpion, and with surprise grace for its bulk, the black insect set about crushing the burning goblins into the wet earth of the valley, protected from the flame by its hard shell.

The moisture extinguished the flames without trouble and soon, with a third of the goblin army buried in the mud, the battlefield was calmed.

The apparent leader of the goblins, seated on the scorpion, shouted something harshly and the remaining soldiers who were not scorched slowly headed towards the gates again.

Unfortunately for Grey Havens, the cave troll was also one of the lucky survivors.

She glanced down at the gates; the fire had provided temporary relief for the elves, but most of them were in no shape to continue fighting.

Her mind whirled frantically, trying to come up with a plan as the cave troll resumed breaking down the gates.

One idea came into mind, but the pure insanity of it made her cringed.

Even if she somehow made it down the tower unscathed, and reached the troll without being slaughter, there was still the question of climbing onto the troll without being thrown or broken in half like a poorly made Barbie doll.

She glanced around her frantically, hoping another less suicidal idea would come up. None did. Technically she could walk down the narrow top of the fort wall and reach the gates, provided the goblins don't shoot her down on the way. A shield propped up by the side caught her eyes. She swallowed nervously: hell no. She was no Legolas; she was more liable to break her neck than anything else.

The gates groaned unpromisingly as it protested under the attack of the battering ram. She let out a frightened sob.

She looked down at the worn out elves below, seeking anything that would give her courage.

Given what she remembered from the book, the Goblin and Corsair armies planned to sweep down from the North with Grey Havens as a starting point. If Grey Havens fell Sauron's allies would move on to the Shire and then Rivendell.

She looked into the western sky where a shimmer of stars greeted her, twinkling innocently as if the mortal battles were no concern of theirs.

One particular star caught her eyes; it was brighter than any other star, glowing close to the horizon. Her gaze traveled directly down and found the balcony where Glorfindel often stood. A warning bell went off in her mind.

Venus….

Venus was also known as the Evening Star or the Morning Star depending on its cycles around earth.

In the world of Tolkien, Venus was also known as the….Evenstar.

Her mind snapped back to the pained expression in his eyes when she spoke of Aragorn.

"_The one I love…waits for another…"_

Her heart twisted inside of her; her nose soured and her eyes stung. She didn't know if the pain came from knowing Glorfindel's love was unrequited or realizing how much it hurt _her_ to see him like this. He did not deserve this. Such a kind and gentle elf did not deserve this pain. The only one to see beyond her hideous colors, the only person who cared, did not deserve to have his heart broken. Tears fell down her face again: _I'm sorry, Glorfindel….I'm sorry…but you will see her again, and she will be safe…Grey Havens will not fall. I promise._

She grabbed the shield and ran back to the edge of the tower. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath to steady her tremors.

"Be safe…my golden elf lord…" She whispered into the wind before she jumped.

The ground flew by in dizzying speed as she slid down the top of the wall towards the gate. Black arrows from the goblins shot past her, but were too slow to hit her. The pillar of the gates loomed ahead of her, foretelling a painful stop if she did not turn from the path soon. She glanced to the side, calculating the distance to the giant troll, and at the last second before the shield smashed into the pillar, she shot into the air towards her target.

Whether it was by pure luck or miracle, she did not know, but she landed on the trolls shoulder. The troll snarled and picked her up with one hand in a bone-crushing grip, as if she was a mere fly. Working quickly before he could throw her down, she tossed the small ceramic bottle into his mouth opened in a growl. The bottle smashed against his teeth and liquid trickled into his throat.

The grip tightened, Miriel let out a soft cry as she felt her bones compressed together painfully. She gritted her teeth in pure obstinacy; she raised her right hand: "Eat this, bastard!" She cursed as she snapped her finger; a wood chip flew into the troll's mouth.

Its mottled green eyelids snapped wide open as a loud bubbling noise sounded from the depth of its stomach. It stumbled slightly. The bubbling sound grew louder and louder. The troll let out one final roar of defiance before it exploded in a shower of green bits, and Miriel was thrown clear across the field.

Miriel coughed to catch the breath knocked out of her as her fingers scrabbled against the soft grass. A black grasping claw stabbed into the dirt in front of her. She raised her head to see the leader of the goblins sneering down at her.

The scorpion pulled back the claw, preparing to try again. She let out a loud shriek of utter terror and pure survival instinct pushed her to roll across the grass. The claw pounded into the dirt where she had just laid.

A voice shouted from the top of the walls: (Archers! Take down that scorpion and its rider! Aim~~ Fire!). She spared the source a glanced from the corner of her eyes and found Círdan the Shipwright staring down at her tensely.

A hail of arrows rained down on the scorpion and its riders. The scorpion merely raised its tailed and easily deflected the wooden projectiles. However, the attack provided the distraction Miriel needed and she managed to struggle up onto her feet.

Círdan watched as the young human girl stood up tremblingly, facing the black scorpion and its rider, Gorkil the Goblin King. It was a suicidal mission, and his mind worked frantically to find a way to bring the child to safety. She looked up and for a moment silver eyes met red. The girl slowly shook her head, as if reading his thoughts.

His eyes widened in surprise.

Even a fool could see she was frightened to death, her hands shook, her breath came out frantic yet shallow, and her pale faced streaked with dirt from the trails of tears. In his long life, he had seen men with less fear fled from the scene of the battle. Yet the young child stood, facing her enemies defiantly.

"I am Miriel Hall," she clenched out, "You will not take Mithlond."

"And who'z to stopz uz," Gorkil hissed out; he flung out his hands, "the elvz are wary, tirez of iz world. The dwarvz buzy with minez and the menz…the menz will never see the nextz dawnz. Mithlond willz fallz."

"Mithlond will not fall, neither will Shire or Rivendell," the girl raised her chin stubbornly, her eyes flashed brightly.

Gorkil narrowed his eyes: "Shirez and Rivendellz….who toldz you this, you colorless vermin."

The girl straightened her back: "You will not go on."

The goblin king sneered: "What iz it to a pale snizvelling monzter like you if the elvz and hobbitz survive or not?"

The girl flinched slightly but steeled herself again and replied quietly: "I may be a monster, but I am still fighting for something. What are you fighting for? A stewardship under Sauron, to your revenge on the Shire?"

Círdan narrowed his eyes; the girl was buying time for them. She was trying to shift the focus of the goblins onto herself.

He had seen many things and known many beings in his long time here in this land. When Laurefinde brought the child back from the Forest of Forlindon, Círdan could not help but wonder if the child was another abominable creature created by the dark magic of Sauron and his followers.

Pale skin with disconcerting red eyes, she was a child of frightening looks. Yet Laurefinde insisted she was a mere human child, frightened and alone, perhaps abandoned because of the way she looked. Years of loneliness might have turned her mind to imaginative thoughts, but she was no evil being.

He had doubted his words, because he had been here longer and he had seen the manipulative way the darkness worked. He kept a close watch on her, but the child did nothing out of ordinary until today.

Today she singlehandedly took out half of the Goblin Army and a large cave troll even as tears of terror rolled down her face and fear wracked her wraithlike body.

"Tell Sauron these lands will never be his. Saruman the White may have been lured into the darkness by his sweet words but there are others who will fight one. He may have reduced the King of Rohan into a brain-dead old man, but the Rohirrims are strong, and they will not abandon their king nor their land without a fight." The child said, her voice grew steadier and louder.

"Saruman's foul magic will never claim Rohan as surely as you shall never claim the Shire." She said, her eyes shone brightly with strength of steel behind the mist of tears unshed.

Círdan's silver eyes stared at the pale ghostly figure below; these were not the words of a child tittering on the edge of lunacy. Rumors of the fall of the King of Rohan under spells had long circled around; however, it was never confirmed. How did a mere child who never venture out of Forlindon knew of this? How could she say with such conviction what was to happen?

Did she truly possess the power of foresight? Of all beings in these lands, only Lady Galadriel of Lothlorien and Lord Elrond of Rivendell possess foresights. Even then, they could not always be sure of what's to happen. Thus, when they spoke of future, they spoke in the mires of riddle as they've seen it.

Yet, this child did not. She spoke with absolutely certainty of what's to occur, without any change, without any possibility of difference. And she was not lying. Círdan could detect no hint of insincerity in her voice or her eyes.

"Mithlond will not fall today, but you…you will not live to see the Fourth Age," the young human finished.

The Goblin King let out a growl of fury which caused the young girl to shudder.

"You darez to speak thus to me? Gorkil the Goblin King! You should bow before mez, vermin!" He waved a hand to his soldiers, "Kill her, I want her dead and ztrewn acrozz thisz fieldz!"

She grabbed a fallen elven sword from the ground as the goblins advanced on her.

She grinned weakly; her hands trembled even more severely than before: "I'm not very good at this so bear with me."

A goblin headed towards her; she held the sword with both hands before her, left hand in front of the right. In one swift movement she swung the sword upwards; the sword sliced through the goblin like knife through butter. She twirled the sword around and sliced with sideways, putting her whole body into the motion, gutting another goblin.

"Bringz herz body to mez, killz her!" The Goblin King shouted.

The sword was nearly twice her height, Círdan could tell it was draining her just to hold it up. Yet, the child persisted, somehow, mimicking quite accurately the sword fighting skills of elves.

Her speed was of course not even close to that of the elves, but compared to the goblins, she was fast and that was all that counted.

(Archers!) Círdan commanded, (fire!)

A rain of arrows fell into the goblin armies below, yet the attack did little to relieve the lone child below.

(Aim! Fire!)

Another volley, yet there were simply too many goblins.

By now the wearied child had dropped the heavy sword and resorted to a series of punches and kicks while dodging incoming scimitars. Círdan did not want to think how merely bones of a young human girl could take on the armours and tough skin of goblins.

Círdan glanced around; they had no elf left except for the few archers. Most were injured and were now slowly taken to the Healing House. He simply could not risk opening the gates when it had taken the lives of so many elves just to shut it after the grievously injured legions took shelter within.

With Corsairs behind them and goblins before them, Grey Havens seemed lost.

Yet this girl, she would die to save Grey Havens, and for what reason, even he could not fathom.

Battered and bruised, Miriel was beyond drained as she stared at the hordes of goblins before her. Even with the fire and the siege of arrows from the elves the enemies did not seem to lessen. She was so tired, so cold, and her body ached with pure vengeance as it protested the physical strain she had placed it under. She stunk of dried blood, metallic swords, sweat and dirt.

She was so very tempted to just sit down, throw her hands up, and let her head be cut off just so she could get it over and done with.

However, to be honest, she was a bit of a coward. She felt certain getting her head cut off would be a very unpleasant if not also painful experience. Hence, she kept going, dodging swords, running around in circles, and kicking anything that came within her reach.

But it was really a losing battle, not that she could do anything about it. Twenty-first-century-born woman did not just suddenly become an expert in fighting off monsters. It was already a miracle she managed to stay alive for this long. Hell, when she was pulling that stunt with the cave troll, she thought for sure she would be a goner then. But obviously the Valar had other plans, i.e. let her suffer longer.

In her feverish haste to dodge deadly pointy objects, she failed to see a gnarled root protruding from the ground. As her left foot stumbled over it, she struggled momentarily to regain her balance. The moment was all the goblins needed.

One in particular took advantage of her preoccupation with gravity and thrust its spear towards her. The spear missed her heart but went through her just an inch below the clavicle in a shot of hot searing pain, pinning her against the tree behind her.

She screamed and black dots swarmed in her vision, pulling her dangerously close to the edge of unconsciousness. Tears came flooding out of her eyes as whimpers of pain continued to escape her.

Unfortunately for her, the black veil over her eyes was not permanent yet. They lifted briefly but still long enough for her to see a goblin raise its scimitar over her head. Impaled against the tree by a spear nearly the circumference of a water bottle meant she had nowhere to go.

In movies the heroes would bravely pull out the spear and throw it at their opponent, but she was no hero. And this was no Hollywood stunt. Her shoulder felt like someone poured acid on it. There was no way she could pull the spear out without dying of pain or falling into a deep faint.

"God…Valar….let this be quick," her voice, hoarse from her screams of agony, sounded foreign even to her own ears.

She closed her eyes and let the pain drag her into unconsciousness, and presumably her own death.


	4. Chapter 4: The Fall of Icarus

She had carefully selected a mildly cloudy day to enjoy the indirect radiance of the sunshine and let the golden light permeate through the light cotton waifs to warm the coldness she felt within her. In her other life, she lived a life that even vampires would have found extreme. The heavy workload of her academic life made the deepest basement in the library her home. Even the smallest amount sunlight would have burnt her skin and turn it into an angry shade of red. Here, after years of living in the great outdoors, she found she could enjoy some semblance of the daylight without fearing she would come out looking like a lobster.

In the days following the victory of the Battle of Grey Havens while the elves bustled about healing the injured and sending those who had gone too far in the ways of grief to the Undying Land, she was left to her own solitude. Forgotten and deserted by most of the elves, she spent the time wandering around the shores of Mithlond. Those who still remembered her existence in this beautiful land, she mostly sought to avoid. Cirdan had told her Glorfindel had visited her frequently in the weeks she had been deep asleep, recovering from the grievous wounds she had suffered. Yet, when she finally woke up, she avoided him like a baby chick from coyote. Although it might not be awkward for him, she found it embarrassing to face someone, who barely knew her, but whom she had nearly died for, for reasons unfathomable even to herself.

Standing on the grassy knolls she glanced out at the towering cliffs ahead that all but formed a perfect gate before widening out to the sapphire expanse of the sea. A gust of chilled sea wind blew through the bay, signaling the start of the days leading up to the dying days of the last of summer and the beginning of crisp autumn.

She slowly made her ways to left cliff, treading carefully on the soft springy grass until she arrived at the edge. She set down and let her legs dropped over the end of the grassy patch into the empty air below. Below, she could see the white foams of waves breaking against the grey boulders propping up the cliff. She closed her eyes, feeling the warmth of the sunlight and the cool mist of sea juxtapose against her skin.

She was so tired. Her wounds have all been healed. When she awoke on a soft downy bed, she could not even see one scar on her body, thanks to the quality of elvish medicine. Not even one physical reminder of the grisly horrors of war that had occurred just outside of Grey Havens but a month ago. Yet, the spectral of the screams, the tangy smell of blood, and the ghastly sight of bodies and body parts strewn across the fields haunted her. In the short span of just a few months she had two close shaves with death. She would love to say the frequency had numbed her, but it didn't. It merely made her even more cowardly and scared. What was worst was the nights she spent awake staring into the nightmarish shadows as invisible hands reached out to grab at her and imaginary spears would be thrown, and the last injury she suffered would repeat again and again until she couldn't even distinguish the reality from dream anymore.

But there was no physical scar.

Yet every now and then her shoulder would still hurt as if the very spear itself was still embedded against her collar bone.

Everywhere she turned she could see the ghastly bloodthirsty eyes of the Goblin King.

A rustle of the leaf, a brush of wind against her hair, even the softest chirp of the bird would sent her jumping and wide-eyed.

She was scared. She was so scared. Luck had saved her foolish self once, but how many times would it save her. Lady Luck had always been fickle about her guests. Yesterday, Lord Glorfindel had defeated the Corsairs in time to return to the battle with the goblins and saved her. Tomorrow, she might not have the same fortune.

What if the next time her luck runs out and she dies?

Could she die? Or would she be sent to some other horrific semblance of a world as fate had seen fit to do last time?

The battle had sent a sharp kick to her bum to remind her once again that this was not her world. She was no soldier. Even if she was one, she would have been one in a world where the technology had advanced past spears and swords. But the point was she wasn't a soldier. She wasn't even a fighter. She was a coward, and all she had ever done and wanted was to run away and hide in the shadows where the light will not touch her and where people would not stare at her.

Her right hand moved up to touch the white strands of her hair that had lengthened to her shoulders during her stay here. Her fingers moved across to the pale bloodless skin of her cheeks.

Was she real? Was all of this real? Or perhaps she had become insane somewhere along the road of her life and she was just dreaming while her body lain on the bed of some insane asylum in her former life.

Thoughts intertwined and jumbled within her mind and she turned her head slightly to stare at the golden brilliance hanging just above the horizon.

Like Glorfindel…

Golden brilliance so beautiful and so bright it was almost scalding to her.

A tear trickled out of her eyes, leaving behind a burning trail down her cold cheek. She didn't like him. She didn't like him. She really didn't like him. It was just a silly crush. She hardly knew the man. Well, she knew his history, but she didn't know him at all.

A nasty little voice piped up in the back of her mind: she knew enough that she was willing to die for him like some soppy heroine of a romance novel.

She knew he was kind, painfully so. He was beautiful, not just physically, but beautiful as a being. He had a soul that was simply beautiful. And his love….Like so many others she had once scoffed at the idea of a love that would ever be pure and deep, but Glorfindel's love was exactly like that: utterly pure and unbelievably deep. The books had never talked about Glorfindel and Arwen. Cirdan had also asked her not to speak of it to anyone as it was not quite common knowledge.

Thus, from what Miriel knew now, unless something changes in the future Glorfindel would carry this love to his death quietly. Miriel didn't know what happened between Glorfindel and Arwen. However, she could hazard a guess that being tutor to the twins Glorfindel must have also came into frequent contact with Arwen as well and presumably love grew from that. Unfortunately for the golden elf lord it was not reciprocated, and Arwen fell in love with the foster son of Elrond instead.

Surprisingly, Glorfindel was never bitter or angry as far as Miriel could tell. Certainly, Glorfindel shouldn't be here at all. While Aragorn was off fighting battles, leaving Arwen alone in Rivendell, it would have been the perfect chance for Glorfindel to be there with Arwen. Lesser men would have no qualms about doing so.

Yet, here was Glorfindel, fighting on the other front for Arwen, a battle that Arwen would never know or even hear about.

Glorfindel merely accepted the fate of a one-sided love for eternity. Without a doubt he was sad, heartbreakingly so; however, underneath that overwhelming grief was quiet acceptance and recognition that it was just not meant to be.

"Child, how fares you? What thoughts haunt you this day?" a quiet voice drifted over the ocean wind.

Miriel turned slightly to see strands of silver hair fluttered in air.

"I was just wondering how Glorfindel could be so accepting of fate when it seems so cruel." After she was healed, Cirdan was the only person to talk to her consistently so she allowed herself to be blunt to him. Other elves were too overwhelmed by their own grief and pain, and Glorfindel…on one hand he was busy healing the others, and on the other hand, she did not want to see him.

"Accepting?"

"Lesser men would not be here right now. Is it an elf thing? To be self-sacrificing?"

Cirdan drew closer to stand beside Miriel and looked off into the distant horizon: "No, tis not. Tis the nature of Laure," Cirdan said with a sad smile, "as t'had been ages ago when he stayed behind to fight the Balrong for his brethren's safe passage."

"How can he not fight for that love? I know he loves her truly and deeply."

Cirdan gave a mysterious smile: "Does he? Sometimes someone may be there for so long that we mistaken constancy as necessity."

Miriel furrowed her brow expecting Cirdan to stop right now; however, to her surprise the elf lord continued: "There are different kinds of love. There's love between family, friends, and companions. But the love between two halves of one soul, that is harder to find, and even harder to be sure. The fear of losing someone who has been there for us for so long is heartbreaking. But is it?"

"What? Stop spinning the words to make it confusing."

The shipwright chuckled and patted her head lightly: "dear child, I simply meant perhaps it is love and not love."

"What?! What do you mean?"

"He cares for her, very much so, no doubt. But love? Perhaps perhaps…"

Miriel crossed her arms and pursed her lips: "I know he does. It's almost painful to watch."

The shipwright's lips lifted into a mysterious smile: "No…not so much so now. Once perhaps."

"You are like Mithrandir, you speak in riddles." Miriel complained, a scene from the book popped into her mind.

The shipwright raised a silvery eyebrow: "Oh? And how do you know of that? You have not yet met the wizard, have you?"

Miriel wrinkled her nose: "I haven't met the man, but…arg, you know what I mean."

The shipwright laughed and looked out into the sea again. Under the setting sun the light threw his features into strong relief against the shadows. Compared with the first time when Miriel saw the elf, he seemed to have aged greatly. Lines that had not been there now etched deep into the elf's façade and his beard seemed to have paled.

"You hear the calling?"Miriel asked softly.

The elf lord turned to her in surprise first then understanding: "You are full of surprises but I should have learned, should I not, young child? Does the sea call to you as well?"

Miriel laughed: "Not in the same way it calls to elf, no. But to me it has always been calling. The ever changing color of its depth is just like a jewel. The soft wind. The peace it represents. Every time I stare at it I can feel it lulling me to sleep. Every time I smell it, or hear the gulls call, I feel the urge to run back to it. It is peace. It is where I can rest." Miriel sighed wistfully. Before she came here, in what seemed to be a life time ago, she had lived right by the beach. When she came here, after all those years in the forest, she had forgotten how beautiful the sea was. She had forgotten how soothing the waves were.

There was a length of silence from Cirdan, causing her to look up at him. She found him staring at her with an inscrutable look.

Miriel gave a small awkward laugh: "But I think it's probably because I had been living next to the sea for the longest time before I was in the forest of Lindon, and I just miss it. Some people say the sound of the sea is noisy, but to me it is the best lullaby out there."

Cirdan smiled warmly at her and patted her head again: "You are an interest young child."

Miriel snorted: "Sure."

"Do not misunderstand my meaning dear child."

"There is nothing interesting about me, Lord Cirdan, other than my disastrous look." Miriel said dryly.

"Just because others cannot see beyond the skin does not mean you should not either. You know yourself the best, child, you know what is beyond the skin."

"Nothingness." Miriel said without even a pause.

Cirdan gave her a chiding look: "Do not think that. You know you are more than that."

"I am not. I am merely a human with hideous look and you know it."

"Age provides humility, and I am willing to admit, at first I thought less of you than granted. But now," he looked at her almost thoughtfully, "Now I believe you have strength that few elves can boast of."

"Stop making fun of me,"Miriel retorted.

"I am not," Cirdan said solemnly, "Take my word, dear child, I am not."

Miriel glared at him exasperatedly as she wondered if old age had finally gotten to the shipwright and made him senile. She certainly could not say he was lying. He was an elf, and he was one of the FIRST elf. He had no reason to lie to her much less lie at all. Therefore, the only reasonable explanation left for his words was senility. Father Time had finally caught up to the elf even if it did take the former three ages to do so.

But even if Cirdan was nice, Miriel had enough manners left in her to know that he probably would not appreciate being called old and senile; thus, she held her tongue and chose to turn around to walk down from the cliff.

"I'm going to go in now," Miriel sniffed.

Cirdan obviously didn't need her to speak her disbelief out loud, because he merely shook his head and followed her.

"Some words of wisdom, dear child."

Miriel paused mid-step and turned to glance at Cirdan.

"What glitters might not be gold, and gold might not glitter."

Miriel shook her head and chuckled: "I hoped you paid Bilbo Baggins a fee for using his words."

Night fell upon Mithlond sooner than she would have liked it to. Unlike previous nights, tonight, she had fallen asleep soon after she went to bed. However, her hard won sleep was plagued by fits of nightmares. Nightmares that all but mingled with reality, so much so that they felt all too real to be mere nightmares.

Dark clouds gathered at the edge of a foreign grassy field and within seconds what had been a sun lit picturesque scenery became a whirlwind of violent tempest and cold rain. She could feel the stinging of the icy rain cutting deep into her soul. A flash of the Goblin King's laugh sliced through the air. She twisted her body left and right in panic, hoping to sense where the Goblin King is so she could run away.

Flashes of his leering smile surrounded her.

The earth thundered with footsteps of its army.

A loud swish of the wind, and once again Miriel felt the pain of a spear being driven through her. The cold steel tore through the flesh and muscles before piercing through the bones. She let out a guttural gasp and sat up. Moonlit surroundings of her room filled her sight.

It was just a nightmare. Even so, she swore she could hear the Goblin King's snarling laugh echoing about her. Cold sweat covered her body, and as she raised her hand to push back the matted hair stuck onto her cheeks, she could feel her entire body trembling wildly. The branches outside her balcony rustled as wind passed through its leaves; she knew exactly what that was but her mind thought of it as the clashes of armors. An owl hooted. Her mind heard it as the bloodthirsty shouts of the goblins. Moonlight threw sharp shadowy reliefs of the columns against the wall. Her mind saw it as the Goblin King reaching out through the walls.

She let out a cry of distress and horror, and all but threw herself out of the room; her bare feet skidded across the cold stone floors.

Disregarding the iciness and the roughness of the stone against her feet, she half crawl and half tripped through the empty halls of Grey Havens. She stumbled out onto the pier. The cold night wind of the ocean drove an ice pick into her blind panic and she fell onto her knees on the smooth wooden planks, tears streaming down her face.

She was going crazy. She was seeing and hearing things that weren't even there. Nightmare melted into reality without boundaries.

Rationality told her she was imagining things, but the spear, the shouts, the sounds were all too real to her even if she knew they should not be. And the fear that resulted from them was crushing.

She forced the freezing night air into her lungs. Her fingers dug into the smooth wooden surface of the pier. Pushing herself to ignore the irrational fear bubbling up deep within her.

Images of the spear being thrown towards her and sounds of goblins' manic laughter filled her mind. She flinched and twitched in reflex, as if dodging real spears. She let out a broken sob, shaking her head, trying to pull her mind back into sanity and reality. But it was all too futile. One minute she was looking at the pitch black waters, the next she was in the middle of a dark forest dodging spears and goblins.

God….gods…anyone…please stop all these. Please…

She dragged herself across the wooden pier, oblivious to the wood scraping and tearing her skin. She reached the edge of the pier and stared down into the dark depths of the water, so soft and welcoming like the dark silk of a shroud. At this point all sanity had left her; she just wanted her mind to stop playing like a broken record. Without a second thought, she threw herself in.

It was almost like making a snow angel. The coldness surrounded her, embracing her, numbing not only her physical being by her mind as well. She closed her eyes and allowed the welcoming cold to take her, take her to somewhere without nightmares, without the breaking of her soul.


	5. Chapter 5: Convenience of Happenstance

Just as the darkness edged into her consciousness, she suddenly felt someone grab her by the waist. Within seconds, the even more piercing cold air stung her face and then her whole body as that same invisible arm hauled her up to the pier as she felt the warmth of the wood touch her back. She opened her eyes, and her body instinctively turned to allow her to regurgitate the sea water she took in. Warm hands reached out and held her face. Golden eyes stared down into her own red ones.

"Pinor, little one." For the first time in months, she heard his gentle lilting tenor. However, this time, his soothing voice clawed deep into her heart rather than console her. That soft tenderness would usually remind her of a warmth she had not felt for years and mostly likely would never feel within the depths of her soul. But right now, all she could feel was utter despair and fear. She could see death in every shadow, and pain in every corner. She could feel that sharp tip of the spear embedded within her collar bone as if it was real. She could feel the tearing, burning, agonizing pain radiating out from that invisible wound, ripping her nerves to shreds.

She broke away from him and sat up dazedly on the pier. She stared at the golden elf in front of her. Crystal drops of water dripped down from his golden hair and shattered into showers of diamond on the wooden pier. Even the very image of him cut deep into her. She was in agony. She gazed at the water stain on the wood until they blurred. Angry and despairing tears flowed down her cheeks.

"Why…." She cried.

Warm fingers tried to brush away her tears but all in vain: "What do you mean, Pinor?"

"Why did you save me? Stop saving me! Stop!" Images of goblin soldiers standing in front of her flashed across her mind. She twitched and shook her head. Trying vainly to grasp at reality one last time. Another invisible spear shot towards her from out of the darkness, and she lost her hold on the real world. She screamed.

The finger on her cheek stopped, but she didn't feel it. All she could feel was the never ending pain from injuries that couldn't be seen, yet felt all too real.

"I just want these…these nightmares to stop!" She couldn't stop screaming; her throat was raw and sore, but she couldn't stop, "I can feel the spear there, shattering my bone. I can smell the blood. I just want it to stop!" She lost her voice at the last word, and then she was just letting out hoarse cries that weren't even coherent.

Strong arms gathered her into a warm embrace. Soft voice murmured words into her ears: "I am sorry, Pinor. I am sorry." He repeated over and over again.

"Sc…ar…ed….I'm…so….sca….rd…" she sobbed.

Foreign words blended into the words Glorfindel had been speaking and then spun into a soft melody surrounded her being. Warmth seeped into her heart, chasing away the darkness. Her surroundings grew dimmer and dimmer until everything shattered into golden brilliance.

When Miriel came to again it was morning and she was in her bed. She blinked slowly, groaning slightly as the brightness of the sunlight stunned her eyes still bleary from sleep. Memories of events occurring just moments before she lost consciousness trickled into her mind. Her eyes snapped wide open. The mortifying events of last night temporarily overshadowed her newly recovered sense of peace and calmness. For the first time since she arrived in these lands she felt…at peace, without fear, and serene. Yet all that have now been surmounted by what transpired last night.

"Oh…oh…oh god….that was so…." Utterly and humiliatingly embarrassing. She flung the soft bed cover away from her body, her rusty morning brain creaking and groaned as she tried to figure out what was the best way to apologize to one of the greatest elf lord of all times after screaming at him for saving her sorry suicidal ass.

Good lord, what was she thinking? She had never been suicidal in her life. Never. But then again, she also had never tried to sacrifice her sorry ass to an army of goblins. She needed a therapist. Good god, where's Sigmund Freud when she needed him. She shifted her body slightly, and the muscles screamed back in protest.

On the other hand, since her mind was no longer acting like an old projector showing random clips of bloodthirsty goblins, she would scratch off the therapist. Judging by the way her muscles and tendons were protesting, she would change it up for a masseuse.

She managed to maneuver her strained and sore body into proper clothing, and was in the process of trying to straighten her rat nest of a hair when someone knocked on her door.

"Miriel, I will come in."

Her brain did not even finish processing the words before the door opened to reveal the very person she had humiliated herself in front of. Her brain exploded and basic instincts acted before she could think. Grovel her way out of last night's episode.

Her knees gave up beneath her and she dropped to the floor: "I'm so sorry," words came tumbling out of her mouth, "I'm so sorry!"

"Miriel!" The elf lord crossed the room in two strides and promptly lifted her up and set her down on the bed then knelt down before her.

"I'm so sorry. So sorry!" She mumbled repeatedly, staring at the silver fabric of his robe.

"Look at me, pinor."

She stared stubbornly at the cloth, memorizing the thread and the stitching, just in case someone asks her for the thread count later.

Two warm fingers raised her chin, and she felt the full force of his gaze.

"I'm so sor…" she swallowed the rest of that word when he held a finger to her lips. Her eyes snapped wide open and she stared at him confusedly.

"Stop," the golden elf lord said softly, "Tis I who should have apologized. I am sorry I did not notice your wound."

She pushed his hand away and stared at him: "Are you crazy? I didn't have any wound? That was just imaginary."

The golden elf lord threaded a hand through her pale locks with heartbreaking tenderness: "No, little Miriel, the wound on your soul was real and deep. I am sorry I did not see it. I am also sorry you had to hurt yourself so deeply to save Mithlond. I am very sorry little one." His thumb brushed lightly against her cheeks.

Two red dots appeared on her cheeks and slowly engulfed her cheeks until she could feel the burning heat radiating from her skin.

"I…" She tried to look away, but his hand on her cheek fixed her posture. Instead, she settled for the next best thing and just closed her eyes to avoid the burning gaze, "I'm fine. It was just a nightmare."

"Pinor, please open your eyes and look at me."

She shook her head. Good god, why wouldn't the elf just let her grovel and get it over with. She did not deserve to be scorched out of existence by his overwhelming...self.

"Little Miriel, please."

She couldn't refuse him, not when he was speaking to her in such a heartbreakingly painful voice. She opened her eyes inch by inch and nearly flinched at the warmth in those golden eyes.

"You were not fine. You were in pain. Your soul was in pain. Do you understand?"

She blinked at him in confusion and shook her head.

Both of his hands now cupped her face: "You were not meant to be touched by the blood and stench of war." Golden eyes gazed at her caringly.

She stared back at him in utter confusion. Was this just another way of saying she made a great choice of not joining the Marines, because obviously, she sucked at dealing with PTSD?

"Miriel, listen to me and listen well, do not rush into battle next time." The light in his eyes grew brighter.

"But what if..." she stared back at him; she couldn't promise him that! What if she gets ambushed? What if he gets ambushed? While she wasn't navy SEAL or anything, she could still try make sure he doesn't die, at least not in front of her anyways. She couldn't promise him what he was asking. She just couldn't. Besides, why wouldn't he care if she rushed into battle or not? She was a human, and one he barely knew at that.

The heat from his hand became almost scalding.

"Not for any reason. Do not fear, I will protect you, this I swear on my life. Do you hear me?"

She looked back at him with complete bewilderment: "I don't understand, why? I didn't mean to scream at you, please, I'm sor…" she let out a startled yelp as the elf pulled her into an embrace. His arms tightened around her as if he was trying to meld her into his very being. His warmth seeped through her clothes, skin, and drenched her soul.

His voice echoed softly in her ears, pleadingly: "Miriel, please, you are a child. You should not be tainted by the horrors of war. I will protect you, do you understand. Do not fight anymore."

OH! Well...that explains a lot. He saw her as a child. How lovely...Yes, well, it would be rather hard to allow a five-year-old to rush into war with a battle ax.

"But…I'm not a child…." Miriel protested. For a moment, her old stubborn and pugnacious self resurfaced after the longest coma.

Glorfindel pulled back: "Please, Miriel."

His entreating gaze and the heart-melting warmth in his countenance made her swallow the retort on the tip of her tongue, and she found herself nodding and conceding to him. God, she was such a sucker for a smile from long-haired pointy-ear blonds.

He smiled and tugged lightly on a lock of her hair: "Good, now rest a little more, I will bring breakfast in a later hour."

He gave a last look to make sure Miriel had obediently snuggled back under the covers before leaving and closing the door. As he turned around away from the door he found Cirdan staring at him.

Glorfindel bowed with a hand over his heart in greeting: [Good day, Cirdan.]

[Come, take a walk with me, old friend.] the elder elf smiled.

Glorfindel tilted his head slightly in question but acquiesced with a bow before following the other elf down the long windy corridor.

Minutes of silence passed by as the two elves wandered through the Grey Havens. Finally Cirdan spoke up again: [How is the child doing?]

[Better, the wound was caught in time, I hesitate to think…] the golden elf lord trailed off as thought of what might have happened shadowed his eyes. The loss of life has always been more poignant to elves than human, but the cruel fact of a child taking her own life was purely devastating for elves. It was not something they could understanding or even begin to comprehend. However, with years of wisdom and age behind him, Cirdan could see something troubling the younger elf that perhaps the younger elf himself did not fully acknowledge.

[It seems many of the things we have held true for men are not true for the young child.] Cirdan commented lightly, easing the conversation slowly into the pool of subject he wanted to discuss.

Glorfindel frowned: [T'would seem to be true.]

[It had always been said, elven-kind are more sensitive to violence, to pain, and suffering of others, to the loss of all that is good and the encroaching evil. Yet, young Miriel was nearly taken by the darkness of evil before we realized.] Cirdan said as he raised a hand to touch a yellowed leaf on one of the overhanging branches. It broke off and drifted to the ground in slow lazy circling motions.

[Aye.] Glorfindel whispered.

Cirdan raised an inquiring silver gaze backed by a calculative light: [Tell me, good friend, how did you come across the young child in the dead of the night by the pier?]

Glorfindel frowned slightly: [By chance, I think.]

[What had you been doing?]

[I had been in my study as usual, studying one of the records on the rings, but for some reason that night my heart was not in it. I felt unrest on my mind and took a walk.]

[To the pier?] Cirdan inquired innocently.

[Aye, and I saw pinor throwing herself in.] Glorfindel's frown deepend as he turned to Cirdan, [why the questions, dear friend?]

[You mean to tell me, you find none of the circumstances odd?] Cirdan asked raising an eyebrow.

[Odd?] Glorfindel shook his head.

Cirdan chuckled: [My dearest friend, I have known you for hundreds of years. Ages have come and passed. I know you. Once you begin research you do not leave the room for weeks on end. And yet, a fortnight ago you came out and you wandered to the pier, where never once you had visited after you returned from the grace of the Valar.]

Glorfindel turned away from the older elf and stared off into the distance. A myriad of emotion flittered across his eyes that bespoke of the internal turmoil the elf felt within his soul.

The silver-haired elf placed a hand on his friend's shoulder; he could feel the tense muscles beneath his hand stiffened even further.

[What do you wish to say, Cirdan?] When he spoke again, there was a certain stiffness and crossness in his voice that were uncharacteristic of him.

[Of this? Nothing. I can say nothing. It is not something I can say. It is something you must feel.] Cirdan merely replied gently, allowing the faint petulance to pass him by with ease, [But hear these words and hear them well. One day you shall realize the true difference between the fear of losing something you held as constant, and the fear of losing something you never thought you need but cannot live without.]

[I must get back to little Miriel, she has not eaten for two days.] Glorfindel said instead and left the garden.

Cirdan sighed and stared up into the sky: [dear fathers and mothers, please give young Miriel Hall strength to stand by my foolish friend and in the end grant them happiness. There are so little left in this world, but pray grant it Miriel. She is so young and the world has been so cruel.]

A soft billow of wind coursed through the garden, and Cirdan smiled: [Aye, I understand. I will wait.]


	6. Chapter 6: Because You Never Lost Hope

"You do not have to baby me, Lord Glorfindel, I am not made of glass," Miriel repeated for the nth time a week later as she pursed her lips with mild irritation after Glorfndel chided her again for not wearing a cloak. The whole treating-her-like-a-five-year-old was starting to ruffle her feathers, in a major way. No grown woman liked to be treated like a child.

Glorfindel bent down slightly and finished fastening the brooch to the cloak: "You have finally recovered; you would not want to return to bed rest so soon, would you?"

"I'm fine, Lord Glorfindel, I am not a child." Miriel frowned.

"Alright, you are not."

"Now you are patronizing me," Miriel growled. Grown woman also does not like to be patronized.

"I am not; for a young child you have a surprisingly old soul," Glorfindel chuckled as he pressed a kiss to her forehead, "now come, you were heading to the pier to watch the sunset, you are not?" He held out his arm to her.

Miriel touched her forehead lightly. A sharp tug of pain in her chest reminded her that, to him, she will always be a child. Arwen will be the only lady in his life for now and forever.

"Cirdan called you Laure and not Glorfindel, why?" Miriel asked, trying to move away to another topic, "Do you have another name?"

Glorfindel chuckled amusedly. Miriel did not need to read his mind to know that he knew why she suddenly shifted the topic. However, he indulged her and responded: "Tis merely the same name, but in Quenya."

"In Quenya? Why would he call you by your name in Quenya?" Miriel frowned in confusion.

"That was my given name when I was born."

"Oh, then why does everyone else call you Glorfindel and not Laure?" Miriel wrinkled her nose at the golden-haired elf.

"By the time I arrived in Rivendell Quenya was not longer often in use. It was also…" Glorfindel paused, his golden eyes dimmed slightly, "and it was a wall to painful past memories, the new name."

Miriel's frown deepened as she stared up at him.

"Something troubles you, Pinor?" Glorfindel gave a small smile.

"Not every past memory is painful, right?" Miriel asked slowly.

Glorfindel raised an eyebrow in surprise then said faintly: "No…no, not all."

"But even if they are mostly painful, the past is part of us, even the painful bits. To deny our past is to deny part of us. Past experiences, whether it is painful or happy, is an experience that becomes part of our character." Miriel said thoughtfully, "Perhaps it is different for elves. But for humans, past is part of who we are. It also teaches us lessons so we can avoid those pains in the future and become someone better. We have shorter lives than elves. So each experience is significant in who we are and who we can be. Experiences are past and future potentials at the same time."

The golden elf lord's eyes glowed brightly as he stared fixatedly at Miriel. Feeling his intense gaze, Miriel gave an awkward smile: "Sorry, did that sound weird? That's how I think of it anyways. I hated the past. I'm not quite sure I like the present much either. But that doesn't mean I won't face them. What happened to me before made me stronger. It also made me more aware of what is important. What happens to me now gives me the chance to make different choices than I have previously so that I can become a better person in the future."

"You speak wise words for someone so young, Pinor," Glorfindel's smile grew until his whole façade glowed with a golden aura.

Miriel shifted slightly, uncomfortable with the praise. She shrugged; her ears turned red from embarrassment: "Not really, perhaps it is just nonsensical words that I use to cheer myself up, to tell myself that the future will be different when I was alone…I mean in the Forest of Lindon."

Glorfindel stared out into the horizon: "Aye, I know the feeling you speak of, Pinor."

"Loneliness? You felt lonely?" Miriel asked with no little surprise, "When?"

There was a long silence and Miriel waited as she watched the inky veil slowly encompassed the dark purple dye in the distant horizon.

"When I first stepped onto these shores in Mithlond with the grace of the Valar. I felt alone and hopeless. I was afraid of the past repeating in front of me, seeing all my loved ones dying around me." The tall elf lord stared off into the distant horizon marking the edge of the sea.

Miriel stared at him in disbelief: "You were afraid?"

Glorfindel smiled wryly: "Is that so difficult to believe?"

Miriel tilted her head slightly; her nose wrinkled again as she thought over her words: "No, I suppose not."

"Oh?" The elf lord turned back to her once again in surprise.

Miriel smiled wistfully: "Lore masters had always praised you to the heavens," she sighed as she turned away from the sea, snuggling deeper into the wooly cloak, "but," she started walking back, clearly feeling Glorfindel's stares on her back, "I know you to be different. You lost friends and families; yet, you still had hope." He was beautiful in some ways, but that was not what made Miriel's heart ached. What made her heart ached was how deep his emotions ran for others, and how warm he was despite of what he had seen, and despite of the evil he had fought against.

She turned around to see Glorfindel with an inscrutable look on his face. Of course he wouldn't know that she had read his story, and she had almost cried to see his House and the other Gondolindrims dying in the blood bath at King's Square in the Fall of Gondolin. She could almost see the beautiful city in her mind when she read the book. And she could visualize, with all too clear of a picture, the bloodshed that must have happened, just like the one that occurred at Mithlond. Yet, even after all those battles, the elf-lord stood strong and glorious against the encroaching darkness. And also the encroaching inevitability...if the darkness recedes, even then...he would not be able to reunite with the one he loves, because she waits for another. The smile on her lips trembled slightly, and her nose soured. She held the smile firmly on her face with the pure force of her will.

"Even after seeing so much evil, you still fight harder and love deeper than anyone I know. You believe in a brighter dawn. You believe in fighting for what's right, and what's good. Most of all, you fight to protect your love. You," a familiar stinginess made her blink her eyes rapidly, "are the sweetest and kindest being I have ever met." And she wanted to protect that. She wanted to make sure, for as long as she could do so, he will never lose that golden aura and warmth. She wanted to make sure he will not end up like Rivendell at the end of the movie, a place of fallen leaves and cold stony balustrades.

Who he was, what he stood for, and what he believed in were all worth protecting. He made what had been a nightmarish sojourn from her world beautiful. He made things bearable. He had believed her. He saw past the horrendous coloring of her skin and treated her as if she was a human being instead of a monster. She couldn't do much. There was no telling when her foolish bravado might get her head chopped off, but she would do all that she could to make sure the first person in Middle-Earth who had treated her like a human being would survive this war and be happy.

She turned back around and started walking back again.

"Miriel." Glorfindel's soft lilting voice stopped her in midstride.

She rubbed off the two drops of delinquent tears that had escaped before turning around.

"Yeah?" She managed a wobbly smile.

He just stared at her, words seemed to be on the tip of his tongue, yet he said nothing. A myriad of emotions went across his face, too fast for Miriel to distinguish. Perhaps even too fast for the elf lord himself to understand them. She managed to smile again and started to turn to head back.

"M…"

"Laure!" She turned around to see Cirdan walking rapidly towards them.

"What ails you?" Glorfindel asked seeing the pallor on Cirdan's face.

"You must take the men we have and ride to Lothlorien. Galadriel foresees an attack on the forest no later than seven days." Cirdan said gravely. Miriel felt a bucket of ice sudden rained down upon her. This was not supposed to happen. Lothlorien was never supposed to be attacked. Her brain all but imploded on itself as the gears within worked overtime trying to process this information.

Shadows darkened in Glorfindel's eyes: "Very well, we leave tonight."

No…he wasn't supposed to be there either. What if….what if something happens to him? She could not allow that. It wasn't supposed to happen. In both the book and the movie, he was supposed to be alive in the end to….attend the wedding of King Elessar and Arwen. Of course, that probably wouldn't be something for the elf-lord to look forwards to, but nevertheless, she was going to make damn sure he gets there.

"I will go as well," the words stumbled out of Miriel's mouth.

Both elves turned to her in surprise.

"Young child…"

"No little one."

Miriel bit her lips and looked down to the ground, but she said determinedly: "Not your choice, Lord Glorfindel," she looked up back at him, "Lothlorien was never supposed to be attacked. Something is wrong, Sauron is plotting something."

"Pinor…" She furrowed her brows stubbornly.

"I have to find out what's going on. This was not supposed to happen. If this happened because of me then I have to figure out what is going on." Miriel said slowly, measuring each words carefully as she met the golden elf lord's eyes, "I have to."

"Little one, everything will be alright." Glorfindel said softly. He reached out a hand and touched her cheeks gently, "Stay here."

Miriel moved away from him and shook her head again. No, she was not going to acquiesce this time. She could not. Lothlorien was never supposed to be attacked. Galadriel knew she wouldn't be attacked; that was why she sent her Galadhrims to Helm's Deep. Something was awry, and if everything else had gone according to history then it could only be because of her.

She turned to Cirdan: "Please, Lord Cirdan."

Silver eyes held hers for the longest minute before the elderly elf nodded: "Very well."

Glorfindel turned to his old friend sharply and rushed sentences of Sindarin came flowing out with the golden elf lord's eyes all but glowing fiercely.

Cirdan replied calmly and shook his head.

At length it seemed the shipwright triumphed and Glorfindel let out a sigh. He turned back to Miriel and bent down so he was at eye level with Miriel without her needing to tilt her head.

"Give me thy word you shall stay within Galadhon."

Miriel pursed her lips.

"Give me thy word, or I will tie you to one of the talan," Glorfindel narrowed his eyes.

The nerve of that elf! Miriel's lips thinned into a flat line. However before neither the golden elf lord nor her could engage in a staring contest, Cirdan interrupted.

"Young child, give him thy word."

"But…"

The silver-haired elf lord nodded reassuringly.

Miriel sighed: "Fine," she rolled her eyes at Glorfindel, "Seriously Lord Glorfindel, tie a woman to a talan? And here I thought the famed Balrog slayer was known for his kindness and good manners."

Cirdan chuckled at this, but Glorfindel merely looked mildly exasperated as he said shortly: "Come, we have a long night's ride ahead of us."

Miriel eyes widened slightly; however, before she could say anything Glorfindel continued: "Worry not, you will ride with me."

"Who knows, maybe by the end of all this, I will have learned how to ride a horse." Miriel said wryly.

"No need, by the end of all this you will be safely back at Mithlond." Glorfindel said flatly before he left.

"I would say it's that time of the month," Miriel grumbled, "but sadly he's a guy, seriously, mood swings. What a grouch."

Cirdan most likely didn't understand any part of the first sentence, but the last was enough for him to laugh out loud. He ruffled her hair: "Only where you are concerned."

"Well, I'd prefer if he tones down the paternal instincts just slightly," Miriel said running a frustrated hand through her hair.

"I would not call it paternalistic." Cirdan said as he glanced after the retreating figure of Glorfindel.

"Really? What else would you call it?" Miriel stump the ground, not knowing whether to cry or to laugh. Although it made her happy that he noticed her, but somehow it pained her beyond reason. She told herself that it was because she did not want to be treated as a child. However, a small whisper in the back of her mind told her it was something more than that.

"Come, dear child," Cirdan said placing his hand on the small of her back to push her along, "you have a long night."

Stalin would have had a fit if he saw how fast elven armies mobilized. So would other whip-cracking generals who had sought for centuries to mobilize troops in a snap of fingers. Within hours the troops were packed, armored, armed, and ready to go.

"Pinor." She glanced up and saw Glorfindel standing next to her leading Ashalof, the fame white steed that had carried Arwen to Aragorn and saved Frodo.

"Oh, hey."

Glorfindel bent his head slightly: "Remember your promise?"

Miriel nodded: "I promise to stay inside Galadhon."

Glorfindel sighed and reached out to lift Miriel up to the horse. He gently set her down on the saddle before jumping up behind her.

[Soldiers! Turn!] the army turned in unison at Glorfindel's command, [March!] And they were off. Out of the corner of her eyes Miriel saw Cirdan standing up at the balcony overlooking the courtyard. She waved; he gave a shallow nod and smiled.

Foreign words of Sindarin drifted to her ears.

"What did Lord Cirdan say?" She asked quietly.

"May the wind guide you, and I shall see you return safely before the last leaf fall." Glorfindel replied softly. The warmth of his breath by her ear gave her a sharp reminder at how dangerous her current position was to her sanity.

She stiffened slightly, trying to give herself at least some distance between her back and Glorfindel. However, the horse was only so big, and every time the hoof thudded, she would bump against Glorfindel. Thank the gods for small mercies though. At least a barrier of cold armor stood between them.

Glorfindel released a hand from the reins and encircled it around Miriel's waist. Miriel all but turned into a statute.

Glorfindel tugged her back up against his chest: "Fear not, I am here, sleep."

"I'm okay," Miriel gave a nervous chuckle, "not tired yet."

She didn't need to see his face to know that he raised an eyebrow at her. He knew very well that she was an early sleeper.

However, he merely replied: "very well."

Before thirty minutes had even passed Miriel had nodded off.

The elves rode without stopping and arrived at Lothlorien before nightfall on the fourth day.

Galadriel herself came out to greet them with Lord Celeborn. Miriel stood there marveling at the fact that only an elven grandmother could ever look like a face fresh out of college. That, and she stood there waiting for Galadriel to invite herself into her mind as she had done to everyone that stepped into her woods.

However, minutes passed as she spoke to Glorfindel in Sindarin and nothing happened.

Slowly other Lothlorien elves came out to lead the soldiers to rest. Miriel mildly wondered if she should leave too when Galadriel finally turned to her.

"It has been ages since I cannot read a being." Galadriel said amusedly; her voice echoed through the forest. Glorfindel stared at Miriel in surprise before looking back to Galadriel.

Miriel blinked: "Are you sure? You can try harder."

Both the lady and the lord of Lothlorien laughed even Glorfindel smiled.

"Tell me who you are, young child." Galadriel said as she came towards her. She reached out a hand to take Miriel's and to Miriel's surprise the Lady's hands were cold, icy cold.

"Laure, I am sure you and Celeborn has some talking to do, we shall excuse ourselves," Galadriel turned slightly to nod at Glorfindel.

"Very well, Galadriel," Glorfindel nodded but casted a worried glance at Miriel.

Galadriel caught the glance and smiled amusedly as she murmured something in Sindarin which caused Glorfindel to turn his head away abruptly and Galadriel to laugh.

"Come, young child," Galadriel said as she led Miriel away.

Miriel allowed herself to be led away but she glanced back at Glorfindel apprehensively. He seemed to have sensed her distress because he turned and met her eyes to give her a look of reassurance.

Miriel turned back around to look right into Galadriel's eyes.

"So, tell me about yourself, dear child."

Miriel furrowed her brow slightly: "Do you want the abridge version?"

"Whatever you would like to tell me," Galadriel gave her a kind smile of encouragement.

That would be nothing. After all, she didn't know the woman at all. However, Miriel felt an obligation to try. After all, she was on first name basis with Glorfindel. She sent her Galadhrims to save Rohan. And most important of all, Miriel wanted to find out why Sauron would risk attacking Lothlorien.

"My name is Miriel Hall. I am not sure how old I am; I lost track of the days in Forest of Lindon, but I think I have passed 24 summers." She paused, unsure where to go from there.

"How came you to be in the forest?"

"I don't know. I've lived there for a while."

"So not always. What about before Lindon?"

Miriel tilted her head slightly as she tried to sort through what she could say and what she should say: "I remember…." She paused again choosing her words carefully before she continued, "Being born ."

To the Lady's credit she didn't miss a stride in her walk.

"I see."

"That was all I remembered."

To be fair, Miriel remembered everything, but she was not about to tell Galadriel that her life was a bestselling novel, actually make that bestselling novels and award winning movies.

"Why do you come to Lothlorien?" Miriel glanced at her with confusion. The change of subject was welcoming for sure, but she wondered if Galadriel did it because she didn't believe her or she realized Miriel did not want to talk about the prior topic.

Either way, Miriel was not going to look a gift horse in the mouth: "Because this was not supposed to happen." She replied bluntly staring at her feet.

"What, dear child?"

"Lothlorien being attacked."

"Why do you say so?"

Galadriel stopped and Miriel looked up to see the famed fountain standing right in front of her.

"Because I know," Miriel replied quietly as she stared at the fountain.

"Do you wish to ascertain for yourself?" Galadriel asked raising a pale finger to point at the fountain.

Miriel stared at it for another minute before she shook her head. She turned and smiled wryly at Galadriel: "No."

"Not even to ascertain your own future?" Her whispery voice teased her.

Unfortunately, she already knew.

"No, I do not have one."

This time the Lady did stare at her in surprise.

"I was never supposed to exist in this world, at this time, in this place." Miriel said dryly, "Perhaps that is why you could not see who I am." She added thoughtfully.

Galadriel lightly touched Miriel's cheeks: "Silly child…all beings came into this world for a purpose. You are not excluded."

"How do you know?" Miriel asked, "Have you seen me in the fountain?"

Galadriel gave a mysterious smile: "I have and have not."

"What?"

"I have and have not." The Lady repeated.

"That makes no sense. It's an either-or sentence, not and."

"So you see, dear child, you do not know everything after all. Do not put the weight of the world all on your shoulders. Not when you have others who are willing to share that burden with you."

Miriel crossed her arms and stared at her: "People who have lived past the century-mark never make any sense do they? You, Lord Cirdan, Glorfindel, and Mithrandir."

Galadriel laughed, the whispery and mysterious echo gone from her voice. Now her voice merely sounded lyrical and light as the elves Miriel had heard before sounded like.

"You are an intriguing child, Miriel Hall."

"Yes, so I've been told, just not in so few a word." Miriel said dryly.

"Come, you need your rest. Four days of horse riding could not have been easy on you," Galadriel murmured as she led her back the way they had come.

They circled pass the clearing where they had stood before and into another part of Lothlorien full of talans sitting in the mallorn tree, glowing with soft hue of silvery light. At the base of one stood Glorfindel, this time without his armor, dressed in soft silver tunic.

"I return her complete and uneaten," Galadriel said with an obvious tone of amusement as she pushed Miriel to Glorfindel.

The latter gave her a reproachful glance which caused Galadriel to laugh out loud again.

Meanwhile, Miriel stared at the two of them in utter confusion.

"I bid you good night, Miriel Hall," Galadriel lowered her gaze to Miriel.

Miriel bowed hurriedly: "Good night, Lady Galadriel."

"Take good care of this child, Laure." Galadriel's whispery voice returned, drifting through the air as she turned and left.

"You all are so weird. I wish you guys would just make more sense so my head would not hurt so much." Miriel muttered.

Glorfindel chuckled and ruffled her hair: "come, a bath is in order, and then rest for you."

"How did you even managed to do all that so fast? I was gone but a few minutes." Miriel continued to grumble as she followed Glorfindel.

"Time is different in this land." Glorfindel said softly.

"So I've heard."


	7. Chapter 7: The Road to Perdition

It has been days since Glorfindel left to guard the borders in place of the absent Galadhrims. She had been wandering through Lothlorien, out of sheer boredom and anxiety. However, each time she did so she would always end back in the clearing with the fountain.

"Damn…" She did not want to be anywhere close to the fountain. Despite what she had said to Galadriel, it proves to be a very tempting solution to all her troubles, to just look in and see what answers lie in the future. However, Frodo didn't exactly had a great time when he did that, and seeing as Miriel just gotten over having nightmares she really didn't want to be a masochist and subject herself to more.

She glared at the fountain: "No. I refuse, and don't you even try to think otherwise." She turned around to walk out of the clearing and continue the search for food.

Yet less than two weeks later she found herself back at the clearing again. She glared at it again for good measure; however, when she turned to leave black dots swarmed into her vision and her knees gave out beneath her.

And then…she was there, standing in the midst of a battle in the woods of Lothlorien. Clashes of metal, shrieks of goblins and orcs, smell of battle grime, and splashes of red against the white barks. More orcs poured into the forest, overwhelming the golden armors of the elves like the black river of death crashing through a broken dam.

Wounded, dying, and dead elves strewn across the floor of the forest like the carless fallen leaves of autumn.

Miriel looked around frantically for a certain golden-haired elf lord. She ran through the forest, unseen and unheard by the participants of the battle as they fought for the control of the oldest elven kingdom in Middle-Earth.

And then, like a cheesy scene from a cliché movie, she saw him standing but a few feet away from her facing another Balrog like the one that he took down at the cost of his life in the First Age. As if that wasn't enough, a Nazgul flew above him, swooping down occasionally to strike at the elf-lord as he fought the Balrog.

Elves after elves fell around the elf lord. For the first time since they met, Miriel saw a sense of despair in the elf lord's eyes. And for some reason, she knew...even though it was impossible for her to do so, but she knew with a certainty that he believed himself to be back at King's Square again. He believed himself to be bound to the fate of watching all his friends die around him, hopeless to stop the wheels.

The Nazgul and the Balrog attacked simultaneously. Glorfindel dodged the black whip of the ancient demon; however, the Nazgul's sword went clean through his chest. Not one sound of pain came out from the elf lord.

However, Miriel screamed.

She ran towards him, trying to catch him as he fell, but his weight brought both of them down to the ground. She watched helplessly as the golden light in his eyes flickered and faded. Miriel let out another scream as she knelt down beside him. Her mind refused to accept it. She could feel the warm liquid of his blood pooling in her hands as she tried to hold his head up. She could feel the warmth of his body leaking away. The golden aura that she had so often been scalded by was also gone, leaving behind the paleness of death.

"No…" she cried, "No…please…Valar…" The battle continued around them, but she neither saw nor heard any of it. No, not him, they couldn't take him. He was the one person she knew who had hope in such dark times. He was the one person who held such warmth for her, as if she was no different from the next person. He was the only friend she had. He was the one person she could not lose.

Just as she reached out a trembling hand to close his empty gaze, her surrounding spun and disappeared into darkness.

Sounds of bird chirping cut into the dull roaring in her ears. She blinked slowly as light filtered through her eyelashes, and slowly opened her eyes. Tall silver mallorn tree surrounded her once again.

She was still in the clearing. There was no battle. There was no Nazgul or Balrog.

"So…you see." A familiar faint whispery voice sounded. She looked up to see Galadriel standing but a few feet away staring down at her.

Miriel scrambled up from the ground, still breathless from the shock.

"What was that?" She asked, her arms waving wildly. Her entire body trembled madly from disbelief and fear.

"The future." Galadriel said softly.

"No, impossible, I didn't even look into that fountain. Even if I did, and I didn't, that is not the future!" Miriel growled. That couldn't be. The books did not tell such tale to her. This was not supposed to happen. Glorfindel was never supposed to die. Lies...they had to be...

"The future is an ever changing sea of uncertainty. Small things, even if just one move of a finger can disturb its current."

"No! That cannot be!" Miriel shook her head at the lady, refusing to even consider such possibility even though deep down she knew. She knew and that was why she came to Lothlorien in the first place. However, she could not bring herself to think such thoughts. She could not bring herself to think that her presence, her very life here on Middle-Earth, would cause Glorfindel's death, "He is in Lothlorien. You have the power to save him with Nenya."

Galadriel gave a melancholy smile: "The strength of the elves is fading from this land. This is not our age anymore, not my time anymore."

Miriel stumbled over to her, as her hands touched Galadriel's arms there was a loud, almost static-like, cracking noise and a pale silvery light enveloped Galadriel. Even standing within the bright light Miriel could see the utter surprise on the lady's face.

"You…"

Miriel wasn't sure what was going on, but she pleaded with her: "Please…save him….save Lord Glorfindel," tears rolled down her face, and she was pretty sure some snot was involved as well.

Galadriel stared at her for the longest time with an inscrutable look until finally she said: "Even if it will cost you your life?"

Miriel looked back at the grey eyes of the elf-lady. The full weight of Galadriel's words hit her. The truth...the reality refused to let her cower behind the fake pretense that her presence here had not disturb the weave of time. Her presence here did change things. And one of the things was Glorfindel's premature death. If giving up her life meant Glorfindel could go on living as he should, then...then she would do it. After all, she was never supposed to be alive in Middle-Earth in the first place. Besides, a lab rat freak like her versus a brave Balrog-slayer hero...there was really not much of a choice.

"Very well."

Galadriel moved her left hand slightly so that she was holding Miriel's hands, and she raised her right hand into the air. Foreign words came out of her in quiet but commanding tone. Miriel's gaze fixated on the Galadriel with a desperate intensity.

The glow around the elf-lady grew brighter and brighter.

Slowly an indescribable heat curled up from the pits of Miriel's stomach; it grew hotter and hotter, coursing through her veins, burning into every inch of her body. The flames etched into her very soul.

Miriel would have fallen to the ground from the unbearable pain, but Galadriel had her hands in a vise-like grip. A metallic taste welled up in the back of Miriel's throat and she coughed. Scarlet drops rained down upon the ground.

The whole world swam around her in dizzying circles until finally the pain sent Miriel's body into shock and she lost consciousness.

In her dreams she could hear people speaking in the lyrical language of Sindarin. A male voice spoke the words in short and rapid burst of intense punctuation. A female voice replied softly. The male's voice grew louder. However, the tone of the female's voice never wavered from its calmness.

The anger in the man's voice was giving her a rather big headache, and she struggled against the soft but heavy weight over her body as she tried to demonstrate her discomfort. Her pain-wracked body all but creaked under her efforts. She tried to open her eyes and sit up. Her body refused to cooperate and her muscles screamed its protest. She let out a cry of pain.

The talking stopped and seconds later a warm hand touched her forehead.

"Little one…" A familiar voice echoed. The same male voice she had heard just prior.

She fought to open her eyes, but her vision was blurred, the world had taken on a crimson hue. She felt a tear trickle out of the corner of her eyes but she hadn't cry, at least not yet anyways. She might in the near future, just because of the stabbing pain every time she takes a breath.

She started to move a heavy hand to wipe it away from her face, but she felt fingers wrapped around her wrist, stopping her motion.

Mere minutes before her awakening, the elves had been in a fury of debate outside of the talan.

[The power of the Valar had been too great for a human vessel,] Galadriel said quietly, when the golden-haired elf-lord finally left the child's bedside after nights of vigil.

[Why did you allow her to do such thing?!] Glorfindel all but growled out his words.

[It was meant to be. That was her purpose.] Galadriel replied calmly once again.

Glorfindel's eyes flashed angrily: [She is a human child. This was not her battle.]

[She went into it freely.] Galadriel replied, placing a hand on the elf-lord's shoulder. He moved away, the air around him crackling with fury.

[That child has already been through too much, even for a grown man to handle. I left her in your care so she would not be subjected again to the evil encroaching upon this world. And I return to…]

[If it was not for Miriel Hall, you would not have returned at all, Laure.] For the first time since the start of the conversation Galadriel's voice settled down to a firm tone.

However, that did not seem to have any daunting effect on the elf lord at all.

[That was my fate to face.] Glorfindel growled again.

Before Galadriel could reply a soft cry of agony sounded from within the talan, and Galadriel watched with faint interest as the elf lord in front of her ran into the room without another word.

[Little one, calm yourself. You are safe.] Glorfindel murmured as he knelt beside the bed.

The child didn't seem to hear him, and struggled weakly against the soft sheets. Slowly her eyes flickered open, and to both elves' surprise, the entire eye from iris to pupil was red. Blood seeped out from the corners and dripped down the pale colorless cheeks.

Galadriel watched as the elf lord's fingers tightened around the girl's wrist and his face blanched. For the first time since she'd known the elf lord, she saw fear in his face.

[Laure,] she called out softly.

The elf lord did not seem to hear her.

[Laure,] she tried again.

The golden haired elf turned and glanced at her, the anguish in his eyes was overwhelming and even Galadriel who had lived for so long and seen so much nearly took a step back from the intensity of his grief.

However, she had to say it. It was necessary.

[The child is dying, Laure. There can be no help. We can at most ease her pain.] She paused and repeated, [the power of the Valar was too strong for her.]

The elf lord turned back to the pale girl trembling with pain on the bed, eyes opened but seeing nothing for the blood had encompassed her eyes in a red haze.

[No, I will not allow it.]

[Tis the will of the Valar.]

[No!]

Galadriel started slightly at the force behind the word.

Golden eyes flashed brightly almost wildly: [I will not allow it.] He set down the thin wrist on the bed gently. Slender fingers moved to the ring on his right hand and slowly he took off the golden band without hesitation.

[Laure!] Galadriel exclaimed in surprise, [What in Valar's name are you doing?]

[Saving her.] The elf lord replied without a pause, steely determination underlined his voice.

[Hath you lost thy mind! That…]

[I know exactly what this is.] Glorfindel said as he reached out towards the pale trembling limb on the bed.

Galadriel intercepted him in mid-air: [Do not do this to her or yourself until you are sure. You cannot use this ring unless you truly mean it.]

Golden eyes flashed again: [Tis my duty to save her. I gave her my word I would protect her!]

[This is not a symbol of duty!] Galadriel said sharply, [Doing so would only cause more grief to her. Is this what you wish?]

[Galadriel,] another voice sounded in the room. Both elves looked towards the doorway where Celeborn stood, [Let him do it. Time will tell.] The elf lord of Lothlorien said, silver eyes looking at the all but lifeless body lying on the bed, the body of a girl who had sacrificed her life for his kingdom.

"I am indebted to Miriel Hall for her deeds, but this will only pain her even more. By giving her the ring, even if Laure will save her with his light of Eldar he is also binding himself to her for however long she may live. It is a symbol of the union of two souls." Galadriel suddenly spoke in Common Tongue.

Glorfindel all but glared at her when she did so.

[Galadriel.] Celeborn sighed.

"My lord…." The softest whisper caught the attention of the elves. She had heard, and she had understood from Galadriel's sudden interlude into Common Tongue what was happening.

Glorfindel's head turned around so quickly that it seemed he all but snapped it. He reached out to hold the trembling hand rising from the bed.

"Don't…" Miriel whispered painfully, tears mixed with blood fell from her eyes, staining the pale strands of her hair and the sheets, "I will….not….allow…." she coughed and more blood trickled from her lips.

[Do it now, Laure,] Celeborn said sternly, [before tis too late.]

"No…" Miriel shook her head weakly as she tried to move her hand away from Glorfindel's grip in vain.

"Listen to me, little one," Glorfindel said softly as he wiped away the blood from her lips with heartbreaking gentleness, "This is the only way, or you will not survive the night."

"No." her pale lips moved almost imperceptibly, but the stubbornness within her voice was still evident. She took a deep breath, as if gathering the last of her strength, "I…I do not…fear death…if you do this….I will never forgive you." She exhaled the last sentence vehemently, more blood dripped down the corner of her mouth.

"I will not stand by idly and watch you fade away," Glorfindel stated grimly as he forced open her clenched fist and slid the ring on to her finger.

Crimson tears fell down Miriel's face unrelentingly: "No…please…you will hate me….you will regret…" she breathed out painstakingly, "you love her….not me…please stop…stop…" Glorfindel's façade did not even waver as she spoke. He shook his head. At that moment, he thought of nothing else but the driving need to save the girl in front of him. She could not die. His heart told him, she must not die, and he would give his life for hers if needed be.

"I gave you my word to keep you safe, little one." Glorfindel replied his eyes glowing brightly as he pressed a kiss to her cold forehead, "I will keep my word."

With that he started chanting something in the words of ancient Quenya, wordings that had once meant to bind two souls together for eternity through life and death. But here, to Miriel, it sounded like a death sentence.

Galadriel could see clearly the girl's heart breaking. She turned away from the golden light enveloping the room and walked out of the talan with Celeborn behind her: [This will not save her. It will only kill her, slowly. She loves him enough to give up her life but he…his heart belongs elsewhere.]

Celeborn took her hand and held it to his chest: [Have faith, my love. Things are not as it seem.]

Galadriel shook her head tiredly as she leaned against him: [I lost all the faith I have long ago.]

Celeborn gave a small smile: [Ah yes, but young Miriel Hall brought back some, did she not? In the darkest night when Lothlorien had lost all hope, she brought it back.]

[And in return, we killed her with our own hands.]

Celeborn patted her back soothingly: [Shhh, my love, Glorfindel is not as unaffected as he seems to be.]

[I understand he cares for her, but only as guardian would a child. That is different.]

Celeborn chuckled slightly: [Perhaps. But I think there is more than that.]

Galadriel raised her head slightly to look at him before shaking her head again: [I do not know. Her future is one not even the fountain will provide possibilities to.]

[Ah, this is not foresight. This is merely an understanding of elf-lords' psyche.] Celeborn said with a small smile.


	8. Chapter 8: Honor and Pride

_Hi guys and gals:_

_Thank you so much for the reviews. I will have you know, I read every one of them. They keep me going through the thick clouds of writer's block. I am so happy that you all like this story. I especially love it when you guys think this is different. After all, I am trying to make this different than the usual "girl falls into Middle-Earth and join the Fellowship" story, because Middle-Earth is a rather large world, and sometimes just because you are not in the forefront of the adventure does not mean you are not important. _

_My favorite character from Tolkien is of course Glorfindel. To me he is supposed to be this older emissary and hero but who is really still young at heart because he never lived through all the Ages as the other older elves have. Thus, while he is wise, in some ways, he is also still quite young in others. I pictured him as this shining beacon of hope and courage, something that the other elves, like Elrond, who have lived through the times now lacked at the end of the Third Age. Elves like Elrond lacked this light, not because they never had it, but because they had been through so much and seen so much. Glorfindel, on the other hand, is more like the idealist of the elves. He believes in hope and a better tomorrow, and that belief gives him courage and valor in battles. He fights for a better tomorrow because he believes in it. _

_In some ways he is the direct opposite of Miriel Hall who sees the world as a glass-half-empty kind of gal. She has seen and believes in the worst of people. She knows how ugly the world can be, and sometimes she almost believes the bright new day shall never come. She fights because she felt it was her duty to do so. She felt she needed to repay Glorfindel's and the elves' kindness to her. She saw the hopefulness of Glorfindel and wanted to protect it from the ugliness of the world that she had seen. She once had hope, and she had lost it. Therefore, she knew how precious and how easily lost such hope is._

_However, deep down Glorfindel and Miriel are more alike than people might actually think, and I hope you will be able to see that in the following chapters. I hope I was able to make the characters realistic enough that you all can see them existing in the real world, so that they are flesh and blood to you._

_By now, Miriel is starting to grow and change, and I hope you all can follow her metamorphosis and root for her. _

_I also have another new story going in FictionPress under the name Evelyn Lang called "Final Wish to Turn Back Time." It is a fantasy story with my own characters and my own world. I would love it if you all let me know what you think. _

_KM_

When Miriel woke up again she knew she could not look Glorfindel in the eyes anymore. She couldn't even look at herself without wanting to find a pond and drown herself. However, the Valar had been of utmost kindness to her. Glorfindel had gone to the aide of Thranduil of Mirkwood just a day before she gained consciousness. Therefore, she managed to escape the awkwardness. The battle at Mirkwood was part of what would later be known as the Battle of Rhovanion, which included the battle at Lothlorien (the latter of which either Miriel did not remember from the books or was never written in the first place) and now the battle at Mirkwood. The Battle at Mirkwood was one that Miriel remembered and she knew Glorfindel would emerge victorious from it. But this time, she wasn't exactly wishing for his swift return. After all, that would mean facing him directly, something she had no intention of doing, at least not for a while.

Or maybe it was not fortunate that he was gone. Part of her felt guilty, but the other part of her was angry. How could he do this? He loved Arwen. He loved Arwen so much that he fought for her, to protect her, even though he knew she was never going to return his love. When she was not feeling guilty, she wanted to rail and shout at him. She wanted to yell at him. She was so angry that she wanted to punch him.

She did not ask him to save her. She knew the risk going in. She wasn't sure what Galadriel did to save Glorfindel, but it worked, and if she had died because of that, she would not have regretted it. She made a choice. The consequences were hers to live with.

She glared at the golden band sitting on the nightstand beside her bed. She had immediately removed it upon waking; after all, it was not hers. He did not mean to give it to her.

She felt as if she forced Glorfindel's hand, but then again, he also did this against her will. She wanted to cry with the wretchedness she felt, and shout with the anger she had at the same time.

Two weeks after she gained consciousness, she finally regained enough strength so that once she left the sanctuary of Lothlorien, she wouldn't die halfway on the road. That was her hope anyways. She didn't want to risk staying longer in case Glorfindel comes back. Not that war could be won in such a short span of a time anyways, but she wanted to err on the safe side. She did not know how or if she could face him. Although it was predestined that Arwen would never return his love for her, it did not mean he should be chained to a human with a defective gene, especially one he did not love. Even if he did not hate her, he might in the future, when he realized the mistake he made. Even if he did not hate her now, she could not promise she did not hate herself. Even if he did this against her will.

She took only the clothes on her back, her cloak, and the bag of chemicals she had brought from Lindon.

However, she really should have known, she'd be unable to get away with anything in Lothlorien without Galadriel knowing. She'd barely made it halfway across Lothlorien before she saw the lady standing in front of her.

Miriel swore silently. She met Galadriel's eyes and for a moment they just stood there, silently, staring at each other.

It was Galadriel who broke the silence first as she spoke up, but this time her voice was soft and thoughtful rather than commanding: "Lord Celeborn and I differ on our thoughts regarding your fate. I have my own, and he his. However, I owe you a great deal for services you rendered unto us. Thus, I will allow you to choose. If you choose to leave Lothlorien, I will not hinder you. If you choose to stay, you should know you have a friend here as well."

Red eyes widened in surprise at her words. Miriel tilted her head slightly as she mulled over Galadriel's words.

After a few minutes, Miriel replied slowly but determinedly: "I made my choice. I will take my leave of Lothlorien."

"Are you sure?"

Miriel nodded, her eyes stung and her nose itched: "I…I don't know how I will be able to face Glorfindel. I forced his hands…to do something he will regret in the near future."

"He felt it was his duty." The lady said softly.

Miriel flinched at the elf-lady's last word: "I know. It was his first promise to me in the woods. He promised no harm shall ever come to me while he lives."

"He was an elf-lord of honor. You cannot blame him for saving you."

Miriel laughed, it was a bitter laugh choked with tears: "I know. I know that. But…it was my life to give! My life! I gave it freely to save him, an exchange even you approved." Perhaps it was her imagination, but this time, Galadriel seemed to be the one who flinched.

"Miriel, dear child…"

She wiped away the tears rolling down her face with the back of her hands: "I am not a child. I can make my own choices in life. I do not need to be coddled. I can live with the consequences of my choice. I should be allowed the courtesy of refusing an offer when such offer would only make other people miserable!"

Galadriel looked almost pained at this point.

Miriel took pity on the elf-lady and tried to recompose herself with a deep breath.

"I'm sorry. I did not mean to rant at you," Miriel said slowly, trying to steady her shuddering voice, "not when you have all been so kind to me."

"No, tis I who should apologize. I knew of the consequences when Laurefindil removed that ring. I should have stopped him. I am not excusing him for what he did even if he did it as an honorable thing."

The words "honorable thing" punched Miriel like a boxing champion. However she managed a smile, that might have looked more like a grimace in that moment, "I…" her voice trembled slightly. She took another deep breath and started again in a steadier voice, "I understand. I also know Glorfindel is an honorable, brave, and kind elf. I know he looks out for me."

She swallowed the lump in her throat: "I know…he cares. But this is crossing the Rubicon. I mean…crossing a line. He doesn't love me. I know that. I even know the actual person he loves. I mean I don't actually know her, but I know who she is. And do you know how that makes me feel?"

"Dear child…"

"Do you know how awful I feel? Because I know ten years from now, or even less, he is going to hate me. He is going to see an old woman who looks…looks…" she clenched her teeth and forced herself to say the words, "looks like a monster. And by then, duty will not matter. He will hate me. And knowing Glorfindel, he will not even allow himself to do so, therefore, he will be miserable. I know…he is kind, he is so kind, but I also know how much and how deeply he can love."

"And it will not just hurt him, will it, dear child? You are in pain, even now."

She started slightly at Galadriel's words; she breathed in sharply as she looked up at the beautiful elven lady.

Galadriel gave a sad smile: "You love him."

"I…"

"There is no use denying it. You may deny it yourself, but I can see it in your eyes when you asked me to save him. You may think of him as a mentor, or as a friend, but I can see you love him."

"I…I don't…"

"We are both of the feminine kind, young child, and I know that look. It pains you that you are the one who will cause him pain. It pains you that you will be one of the causes he shall not be happy. That is what you believe, is it not?"

Miriel clenched her hands tightly as she stared back at Galadriel: "And can you tell me I believe falsely?"

Galadriel look away from her and deep into the woods for a few moments before she turned her gaze back at Miriel. She looked sad, weary, and almost…old.

"I do not know, Miriel. Truly, I do not. There is a new age dawning upon us. So many things are different now. So many things are out of our predictions and control. I truly cannot tell you what will happen."

Miriel wiped her sleeves across her eyes again, and for a brief second, her eyes glowed with determination and strength: "I know. And it does not matter. My future is in my hands. I left the ring in my room, on the nightstand. Please give it back to Glorfindel. I cannot and will not be a burden on him in this way. And when he returns, tell him he need not look for me. Tell him, I will not be a duty in this sense. I will not accept this. I cannot. He has his honor and pride, but so do I."

She straightened herself, and looked Galadriel steadily in the eyes: "I have my pride as well," she repeated.

Galadriel stared at her in surprise before her stunned silence was replaced by a soft smile: "And where will you go?"

"North, perhaps back to the Forest of Lindon."

Galadriel sighed then beckoned a slender finger at her: "Come, I shall help you then, if that is indeed your choice." She turned and headed towards the border of Caras Galadhon. Forty-five minutes later, she reached the outer rim of Caras Galadhon.

Galadriel stopped and took out a cloth bag and a dagger, previously hidden by the long sleeves of her gown (for a second she strongly reminded Miriel of a kangaroo). She handed both to Miriel.

"Food, drink, and protection, all so I hope you will have a safe journey." Galadriel said softly.

"I've lived by myself for years within the Forest of Lindon. I will be fine." Miriel gave her a reassuring smile.

"The roads are not as safe. And I fear the victory we had was merely empty. Sauron will not give up so easily." Galadriel said sadly.

"I will be fine, Lady Galadriel. Worry not," Miriel tried to reassure her again. She paused briefly before she continued in a wavering voice: "I have my pride and my honor, Lady Galadriel. I hate the choice he made, but…I do not hate him. I couldn't…I can't. Please tell him to take care, and I hope he will be happy because he deserves to be."

Galadriel gave her a small smile: "Go on child, I shall convey your message."

Miriel bowed deeply, one hand on her heart: "Thank you, thank you for everything."

Galadriel stopped her midway with a hand, and raised her up: "No, tis I who should give my thanks. You have the heart of a warrior, Miriel Hall, and the soul of a Queen."

Miriel gave a wry smile: "I do not, Lady Galadriel. If I was what you said, then we wouldn't be in this mess to begin with. I think I should have left a long time ago, then Lord Glorfindel would not have done this." She frowned slightly, and as she continued, her voice grew stronger, "but I will be braver. I can. I have to be." She bowed again, "goodbye Lady Galadriel. Thank you."


	9. Chapter 9: Icarus' Flame

She left Lothlorien without taking another glance at the beautiful city behind her, because she feared if she looked back she might not have the courage to leave again. She had spent so long being alone, but these few months of being cared for, and having someone to talk to has spoiled her. She couldn't even begin to think what it will be like to be back in the coldness of Lindon by herself.

But she had to do this. She was never supposed to be here in the first place. By coming out of Lindon she had disrupted the timeline of Middle Earth. She never should have left. She never should have interfered. And she cannot have his pain and suffering on her conscience. She had her pride and honor too.

She wasn't brave. She wasn't strong. But she will learn to be. She has to. She couldn't always depend on others.

She made a beeline for the edge of the forest.

She was no girl scout, and the fact that she was in a forest certainly did not help her already lack of sense of direction. Galadriel had left her heading to the northern direction of Lothlorien; however, somehow circling around in the forest, she ended up coming out of the east side on the shores of Anduin. Not that she knew it then. She merely crossed Nimrodel and continued heading southward into the Field of Celebrant. Unlike the weather in Lothlorien, the day had turned sunny, and she increasingly felt the heat of the sun torching her vulnerable skin. She pulled on the sleeves of her shirt and allowed the length of her hair to cover the angry red welts the sunlight had inflicted on her paleness.

She'd made it halfway down the Field of Celebrant when she heard faint thudding echoed across the Brown Lands.

She turned towards the horizon with a quizzical look on her face. It sounded vaguely like a herd of bulls thundering across the plains with clashes of metal sounding periodically in between.

She narrowed her eyes and tried to peer further into the distant horizon, hoping to see what was making the sound. However, she could see nothing. Nevertheless, her instincts told her in this day and age, things that thunder across the grassy plains can never be good. Usually the result of such thundering will not result in Angus beef but in some version of what could be compared to the battlefields of the Spartans.

Her fight or flight instincts kicked in, and she fled across the short distance between her and the forest. Although she had just told herself to be brave, these things should happen in small steps. Well….maybe baby steps. She struggled across the river as fast as she could without falling into the cold waters, and then dragged herself up the shores and to the dark forests.

She stopped briefly at the tree lines to catch her breath for a few seconds before picking up her pace again and fled deeper into the forest. Despite her Road Runner swiftness at running away, the thundering tremors that had sounded in the distance grew louder and closer to her heels. When at last she knew she could no longer out run the ominous stampede she found the tallest tree near her and scampered upwards, disregarding the rough barks that scraped her palm, and the ache in her newly healed body. Sweat poured down her face, and its salt content made the red welts on her face sting with a vengeance.

Just as she settled down at one of the topmost but still somewhat sturdy branches, a horde of black thundering masses streamed through the forest floor where she stood merely minutes prior. She peered down silently, and just managed to swallow a wince when she realized what it was that she was staring at.

She was looking down upon a horde of Urukai, the vicious and bloodthirsty killing machines courtesy of Saruman.

She felt her head swam precariously, and her stomach lurched.

Where were they heading to? Lothlorien? But if that was so, they would have turned and crossed the river.

Think idiot, she scolded herself silently, what was around Lothlorien. Moria? Why the hell would that stupid Cyclops in Mordor send so many Urukai there when the goblins were already there?

She felt like slamming her head against the tree trunk. Think, damn it, what else was near Lothlorien. The Urukai could be going up North to the High Pass, across, and over to Rivendell. But, if that was so, why the hell were they inside this forest? They would have just stuck to the easier grounds along the river.

Good lord, she thought with no little disgust at herself, think harder girl!

The wheels in her brain screeched with protest as they turned with much difficulty.

What if…what if…she didn't head north…and head northwest? What if she headed east instead? If she had gotten turned around in Lothlorien and headed east instead…that…that would put her…She looked around her with growing horror.

Oh gods…oh Valar…this…

This was…Mirkwood.

As much as she wanted to deny it, this was the only possible location she could think of. Sauron had been systematically laying siege and waging war against the elven kingdoms. First Mithlond, then Lothlorien, and now Mirkwood, and perhaps Rivendell last.

Dear gods…this…this could not be happening…

For a few selfish second she was so pissed off. Why the hell did that stupid floating eyeball have to wage war in her footsteps? First she was in Mithlond, and he sent Corsairs and goblins there. Then…oh wait…she went to Lothlorien after learning that there might be a siege there.

Damn.

Well, never mind, guess she was just a busybody who just had to mind everyone's business, she thought with mild annoyance.

An alarm went off in her head, according to Galadriel, Glorfindel and the other elves have rode to aid Mirkwood several weeks ago. It was unlikely that the first wave of enemies would arrive only just now.

Oh bloody hell…that stupid idiotic sadistic piece of spherical organ sent reinforcement? She swore viciously but silently.

Miriel looked down again, but the host of Urukai had already emptied out of the forest floor below the tree and presumably heading towards the east end of the Forest River where Thranduil's Halls was.

Damn.

She really couldn't find another word to describe this precarious situation. Presumably, if her memory served her, at this point Glorfindel and Thranduil would be busy trying to clear the Easterlings, Orcs, and Spiders from the northern part of the forest. If these Urukais attack from the south, the elves might be overwhelmed.

Damn.

Where's that hotline to the MI6 when she needed it? But then even if she could find a phone around here, what was she going to say? Hello, there's a band of mystic monsters attack an equally mystic race. Could the MI6 possibly send some people and a few tanks while it's at it?

Oh yes, that would go over so well with the MI6.

She fumbled her hands over her pockets, mentally counting the pieces from the small arsenal she had amassed along the way from the north. There were various bottles of alcohol, and some small concoctions she had mixed in secret from her long forgotten lessons of chemistry. She hadn't tested any of them, since any testing would have drawn unwanted attention to her dangerous experiments.

Well, beggar couldn't be chooser. She would just have to use what she has with her. Besides, she was in a forest, a literal tinderbox if she could get a big enough of a fire to start.

This meant…she could feel the growing shadows of fright and panic in the back of her mind. She shook her head, hard, and pushed back those shadows. No use being a ninny right now. Look at what good it had done her previously. She ended up hurting the last person she wanted to hurt.

She descended the tree with a dogged determination. She stared at the trail of destruction the horde of Urukais had made through the forest for a few seconds before silently following it.

The Urukais made camp at Dol Guldur that night, which was rather odd for them since they were supposed to feel no pain or wariness. However, it did not take long for Miriel to realize that the only reason they made camp was for the Urukais to meet up with a Nazgul.

Miriel wasn't sure if she should sigh in relief or horror. On one hand, it was a NAZGUL. On the other hand, it was just ONE Nazgul, as oppose to all of them.

Regardless, she wasn't about to give them room to breathe.

She crept as close to the old fortress as she could without alerting the heightened senses of the Urukais. And then she proceeded to use phosphorus, distilled from bird guano, to make an arc at the southern end of Dol Guldur. She then took out two flint stones from her pocket. She waited briefly, checking to see the wind was still in her favor, before she clashed the stones together, setting off a spark that lit up the arc within milliseconds.

The Urukais did not even have a chance. The fire blew northward, enveloping the fortress itself and anything in its path.

The Urukais roared in fury but had little choice but to be driven north by the fire. She followed in pursuit. The heat of the fire scorched her already burned skin. By now, she did not even try to hide the sounds she made as she crashed through the dark forest after the fleeing army. She doubted they would hear her anyways. There would be a chance that they would smell her; however, given the amount of smoke that was coming through from the burning of wet wood and leaves, that chance would be very small.

The amount of phosphorus she had used was small. In addition, Mirkwood's forest was also very wet. Therefore, the fire did not last long. However, it was long enough to put the Urukai army into disarray and to warn the elves as well, hopefully.

However, in the event that the elves were still bogged down from the fighting, Miriel started forming plan B as she ran after the Urukais.

The Urukais, true to the books' description, were tireless and relentless. Although the fire had disturbed their militant march (or rather "run," in their case), their ferocity did not lessen. If anything, the fire had seemed to have pissed them off. In the case of the Nazgul, which now rode in the front of the troops, it was hardly harmed or perturbed. Although in its case, it was difficult to tell, since it hid within the shadows of its hood and it literally had no face and thus no facial emotions to speak of.

But the fire, if anything, had siphoned off the ranks and files slightly. Most of whom lain strewn around the now charred Dol Guldur.

The singed smell of flesh and wood had permeated the forest, even as they drew closer to the Old Forest Road. Despite the general nightmare-free nights Miriel had experienced in the recent days, she needed no new reminders of the nightmarish warzones she had seen in Mithlond. She would never forget the bodies strewn across the charred lands like broken toys, and the metallic smell of blood and how it darkened the earth.

However, she pushed aside the ghastly memories with an iron force of will that she did not know she possessed and pressed on after the horde in front of her.

Her muscles had started to scream in protest miles prior, and she took in only enough oxygen for her tired lungs to not pass out so as to avoid huffing and puffing as she ran. If there had been such thing as "runner's high" she passed that point a mile after Dol Guldur which was a long time ago.

The Urukais and their Nazgul leader drew to an abrupt stop, nearly causing Miriel to stumble right into their midst. However, she halted herself in time and withdrew behind a nearby tree.

At first she was unsure as to why they had stopped; however, the reason soon fell on her ears. Sounds of metals clashing, orcs snarling, and men shouting could be heard. She carefully looked around the tree to see some of the Urukai smirked in delight, in delight of an imminent massacre.

She clenched her hands tightly. She felt so helpless, and that irritation at feeling helpless slowly turned into anger. All those elves who had died in Mithlond, all those elves who might die here, her current dilemma with Glorfindel, and it was because of this stupid war, this stupid pivoting eyeball. As the number of thoughts running across her mind grew, her anger and determination grew as well. Besides, she'd already died once before, and it wasn't too bad. How bad could dying this time be?

Enough was enough.

The red searing anger chased out all fears and rational thoughts from her mind. She took out a bottle of alcohol from her pack and within seconds, she had fashioned it into a small Molotov cocktail. She flicked the two flints between her fingers. The Urukais nearest to her heard the sound, but even as they turned around the bottle had been sent flying into their midst. It landed on the ground with a soft tinkle that was immediately followed by a much louder explosion which sent the Urukais in the vicinity flying off into the forest.

As the explosion and the fire tore through the ranks of the army, the Nazgul rider shouted something over the din of the chaos, his armored hand raised to point right at the tree she was hiding behind. The Urukais shook off their daze and turned their murderous gazes towards her.

She was frightened, but she was still furious, so much so that the fury briefly overwhelmed the fear. She sidestepped the first Urukai that reached her. She grabbed his arm and using his own momentum, she threw him over her. Guess getting beaten up as a child did help her learn some sort of self-defense after all.

She let out a reflexive gasp as she duck to avoid getting decapitated by a second Urukai. She grabbed his arm as well, and used the momentum of his sword-swinging action to fling him to the side. However, all these tossing and throwing meant she wasn't really terminally incapacitating the Urukais. She was merely temporarily putting them out of commission.

But she did not have the time to worry about that right now.

She was not a petite woman by any count; however, compared with the bulky armored Urukai she was much smaller and without the armors she was also much faster. She flew in between the Urukais, dodging the swords and armored fists. She unsheathed the dagger that Galadriel gave her and with all the clumsiness of a 21st century white-collar worker, she slammed it into the side of an Urukai's skull. The blood made the handle slippery, and her fingers lost the grasp of the dagger as the Urukai fell down to the floor.

She didn't have time to try and retrieve it; instead, she jumped to the side to prevent her arm from getting cut off. She knelt down and slammed a fist into another Urukai's abdomen and swept her legs at the feet of another, sending it to the ground.

She scrambled up and stared back at the ring of Urukais who glared back at her.

The Nazgul came through the throng of Urukais: "Who…are…you…" it asked as it slowly studied her.

"I am Miriel Hall, and you will not pass me." The sentence brought a sense of déjà vu, but at that point she did not have the luxury to ask for a copyright license.

"You…will not stop us," the Nazgul sneered, "you are nothing."

Miriel paled, but in anger instead of fear; her eyes glowed fiercely: "I am not nothing," she clenched out.

"You are nothing." The Nazgul repeated with a mocking laughter.

Echoes of the past, friends, families, other people, telling her she was nothing, she was worthless came back to her. But this time she wasn't afraid. She didn't want to cry. Instead, she was angry. She was so angry and bitter.

She gave a harsh laugh: "Yes, you all think I am nothing. Every single person I've ever met, believes I am nothing. That I cannot do anything. That I must be cuddled, protected. That I cannot make a single choice on my own." Her eyes flared brightly as she spoke.

"But I am not nothing. I am not afraid of you!"

"You are but a weak human." The Nazgul hissed as it took a step towards her threateningly.

She repeated: "I am not afraid of you," she lifted her chin and stared back at the shadowed hood, "I died once, and I no longer fear dying again," a smile twisted her lips, "but you, you cannot even fathom dying at all, much less twice."

The Nazgul let out a furious shriek and lunged at her with the sword in its hand. The heavy armor, however, weighed it down and made it slower. That gave Miriel time to fling herself to the side and smashed a bottle onto its metallic armor. The contents of the bottle burst into a bright white flame upon exposure to air. The Ringwraith screamed in pain. Surprisingly, it remembered the elementary lesson of drop and roll. However, the efforts were futile.

Phosphorus flames could only be put out by sand. Water could put it out temporarily; however, once the remaining phosphorus touched air then the fire would reignite again. The cloak soon went up in cinders; however the body and armor remained in shape, at least for the first ten minutes. After that, the armor started to collapse inward like a dying planet. There was not even a sound of explosion, instead, there was merely a suddenly pull of air towards the Nazgul. And then without any warning, waves of explosion pushed outward, flattening the ranks and files, including Miriel.

The blast sent her flying a few feet off, and when the dust settled she got up slowly. However, the Urukais, made to not feel pain and wariness, had already started to stand up again.

"You cannot stop us. We will take Greenwood," one of the Urukais growled.

She backed away slightly, scanning the woods for the dagger that she lost moments ago. However, the only weapon she saw was a slim elven sword stabbed into the dirt besides a dead orc. She discretely continued to back away towards the sword.

"I will stop you," she replied softly but determinedly.

Her hands went behind her back and carefully picked up the sword, making sure the Urukais did not notice her movements. The sword was lighter than she thought it would be, as if it was originally made for a lady.

"We do not fear death. We do not fear pain. We will take Greenwood." The same Urukai roared.

She breathed in deeply, silently moving the sword to her side: "I can and will stop you," she said quietly as she turned her body, and in one single movement she swung her body back in one full circle and using the torque of the turn, she sliced the sword through the abdomen of Urukai in front of her. A geyser of blood came spraying out, painting half of her face black. The coolness of the blood momentarily dulled the stinging welts on her skin. The Urukai's spine stopped the sword's way through the body. She stepped one foot forward, and pulled the sword out eliciting another bloody spray, dying her hair a ghoulish emerald black.

She did not stop there. She knew if she stopped then she would allow the Urukais to gain the advantage by using their monstrous strength and bulk. She needed to use her smaller size and lighter weight to her advantage. She finished the turn and slammed the sword into another Urukai. She then turned her wrist and sliced the sword upward, splitting the stomach of another Urukai. She went through the horde of Urukai coming her way, roaring in fury, and slicing as many as she could reach. .

However, her stamina proved to be much less than the Urukai's. Less than thirty minutes later, and less than a dozen Urukais later, she felt her strengths slipped away. The pain of the cracks and blisters on her skin came back to her in full force.

One of the Urukai's snarled triumphantly: "You cannot stop us."

She backed onto a boulder, rasping and panting for breath, pushing the pain to the back of her mind. She straightened her back, and stared back at the Urukais standing below: "He…they saved me, at a horrible cost. He was the only one who believed me. He…they cared about me. He…saved me," she bit her lips with a wry smile, "they saved me from being alone. I can't let you hurt them." she raised the sword above her head and said with more bravery and calmness than she actually felt, "Whatever deity guides my life, dear Lord don't let me die tonight. But if I shall before I wake, I'd accept my fate." She smiled grimly; at this point, she felt G.I. Joe provided a very fitting quote for the current situation.

She had died once, landed in Middle-Earth, and was given a second chance. Here, she met Glorfindel, Cirdan, Galadriel, and other kind souls. If this was death then she should not be scared.

She took a deep breath.

No, she wasn't scared. She had already died once and it was not so bad. Besides, practice makes perfect. Second time should be even better.

The hand that clenched the sword tightened, and her voice grew stronger: "By my life and blood, I will protect Greenwood."

"She will not stand alone." A voice sounded from the trees behind the Urukai horde.


	10. Chapter 10: Kindness Kills

I want to thank all my faithful readers for sticking with me after such a long hiatus. Thank you. Without you guys I would not have been able to continue the story. Thank you for all the support. Thank you for all the encouraging reviews.

Enjoy!

Author

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><p>"She will not stand alone."<p>

She nearly fell from her perch on top of the boulder she was standing on when she heard the familiar voice, full of strength and valor. Her head snapped up and right in front of her head, a particular golden-haired elf-lord stepped out of the dark shadows of the forest. Other elves followed suit, and appeared from the shadows as well. However, she only saw him.

He…looked exactly as if he stepped right out of Tolkien's book. He looked every bit of the elven lord he had been in Gondolin, gone were the shadows and lingering phantoms of melancholy and pain. In its place, he regained a brilliant aura of valor and strength. His eyes glowed fiercely as he looked right at her. Their intensity burned right into the depths of her soul and being. Prior to that she had already lost her breath after the particular bloody exertion she went through. However, now, all the oxygen she had left in her lungs was squeezed out of her at his look.

She looked away. She had to remain strong. She could not be a damsel in distress forever. She closed her eyes briefly, trying to gather the last of her courage. She clenched the sword tighter, and as she opened her eyes, she stepped down from the boulder and into the fray.

She slammed her sword into the knees of the Urukai in front of her and barely darted out of the way in time as it fell forward towards her. She then whirled around and slammed the sword into the abdomen of the Urukai that was behind her in one fluid motion. However, at this point, her sword jammed into the armor as she tried to pull it out.

Her dilemma did not go unnoticed by the Urukais. Quickly, two headed her way. She yanked harder, but the sword refused to budge.

Dear gods…

She swallowed nervously. Well, no use crying over spilt milk. She started running towards one of the Urukai heading towards her. At the last moment as the sword came down towards her head, she pulled up all her knowledge of baseball and threw herself down to the floor, sliding in between the Urukai's legs. As she slid past his legs, she reached out with her arms and pulled. She thank god for physics, because the Urukai resisted for only a few seconds before falling face down.

However, she didn't have much time to celebrate. Instinct made her quickly rollover to the side to avoid getting decapitated. She scrambled up in a hurry and ran behind a tree to avoid another sword swipe. She twisted her body around the tree and sent her leg into the chest of an incoming Urukai with the full force of her body, sending it flying backwards.

The force of her kick continued to propel her body forward, and she would have flown off as well if she wasn't caught. Someone caught hold of her upper body with an arm around her waist. She swung around in a full circle. A familiar voice breathed warmly into her ear: "Kick."

She immediately followed suit and extended her legs. They connected with the head of an Urukai. The arm set her down on the ground, and a hand moved gracefully to grab hold of her wrist. Her body instinctively followed the momentum, turning to execute a back kick as her foot slammed into the chest of another Urukai. The hand on her wrist turned and she pivoted on her right foot so that her left foot sliced through the air and smashed into the helmet of a third Urukai.

The hand tugged on her wrist, pulling her up to a hard armor. Swords clashed over her head, she felt herself turned so that she was facing the armor instead of standing with her back to it. A sense of déjà vu came over her. Her eyes stung as she remembered this was exactly how they met in Forlindon. The hard armor rubbed painfully against her blistered skin, but she did not care. For a brief moment, the warmth and the safety she felt being in his embrace overpowered everything else.

How long time passed, she did not remember. However, all of the sudden the din of the battle passed and silence fell upon the forest. She slowly turned around. Bodies of both Urukais and elves littered the floor. Once again, the brown dirt and the green grasses were dyed dark red and black. The air reeked of the iron taste of blood and death.

Reality slapped her right in the face and woke her up from the daze she had been in. She breathed in sharply and stumbled back a step, right up against the steel armor. A warm hand touched her shoulders. She closed her eyes and clenched her fists tightly. She forcefully yanked herself away from the warm embrace. She turned around and gave a rather trembling smile: "I'm fine."

The smile was obviously unconvincing, because the golden elf's eyes narrowed slightly in a frown: "Pinor," he reached out a hand to touch her cheeks. She turned away from his hand, her lips trembled slightly.

"Glorfindel, please…I…" He, like the brilliance of the sun, was beautiful and warmth to her. But at the same time, it was also painful. She knew, then, that he was important to her. And if he should ever hate her, she did not think she could take it. He was everything to her. He had been the sole warmth that thawed her long and wintry days in Forlindon. And soon…soon he will leave, and that warmth will leave as well, and…and she will have to go back to the wintry coldness.

And in that brief moment, she felt an overwhelming sense of pain and hate. Why show her what warmth…what kindness felt like if she could not have it forever? Did the Valar not know what kills is actually not loneliness or cruelty, but the knowledge that there had been kindness in the past?

"Miriel, little one, please look at me. Tell me what is wrong," he took her arm and pulled her closer. She couldn't look at him. She didn't know how to look at him. She didn't know how she could look at him.

"I…"

"Laurefindil, you forgot to introduce the lovely lady to us," a voice suddenly cut in.

Miriel turned to see an older version of Legolas walking towards them. His face was stern and lined with weariness, and although his voice was equally severe, his gaze was filled with respect as they looked upon her.

"Forgive me, Thranduil. This is Miriel Hall, my lady," at his words, Miriel's face flushed slightly, and she bit her lips. His words made her turn cold inside. It was a reminder of what she had caused and what he had done.

"Well met, Lady Miriel. It is quite unfortunate that we have to meet under this circumstance, but then again, perhaps it was our fortune that we should, for your actions have certainly saved my kingdom this day. If t'were not for you, we would not have known the Urukais' arrival." The elven-king bowed deeply to her.

Miriel let out a gasp at his action: "I…no…King Thranduil, please don't. I can't accept such honor." A small voice in the back of her mind whispered thank god for the Urukai blood and grime of war that covered the red blisters which covered her face and body. But other more tumultuous thoughts soon overrun that voice.

"No, the honor is ours, Lady Miriel," Thranduil said, his silver eyes flashed brightly.

Miriel flushed heavily: "I…" she turned away to look into the dark leaves of the Mirkwood forest. She came because she had to; as long as it was within her powers, she would not let Middle Earth's history change its course. She did not do this out because these elves were Glorfindel's people. She did not do this because it would have pained the golden elf-lord to lose his families, his friends, the people he cared about. It had nothing…_nothing…_to do with him. A shadow passed through her eyes as she clenched her hands tightly again: "It's really nothing," she turned back to the elf king and gave a tremulous smile.

The elven king gave a small smile as he looked at Glorfindel: "The Valar graced you with a beautiful and courageous companion."

"Thank you," the elf-lord murmured, a strangely proud and warm look came over his eyes as he looked down on Miriel, a look perhaps he did not even realize he had.

"Come, t's been a long day for us all. Let us return to the Halls and rest for another day tomorrow," Thranduil said in what would normally be consider an invitation, but coming from him, it sounded more like a command than anything else.

Miriel turned her head slightly to look at Glorfindel, his eyes caught her stare. She bit her lips and looked away. She did not want to spend time with him. In fact, she never planned to be in Mirkwood at all. However, Thranduil exuded an air of power and authority that demanded respect and deference, and she could not find the strength or the nerve to say otherwise.

Glorfindel extended a hand to her. She stared at it a few seconds, unsure of what to do. She shouldn't even be near him. Being this near him for a few mere minutes already did crazy things to her head. She couldn't think straight much less steel any sort of resolve to do anything. All she wanted was to greedily revel in his warmth, in his kindness. But she shouldn't, they were not hers to take.

"Miriel, come," he said softly. She made the mistake of looking into his eyes, the pools of molten gold, and she all but melted. She extended a trembling hand towards him. He closed the gap between them and took her clammy, cold hand in his warm hold.

The rest of the walk happened while Miriel's brain went around in circles in the full speed of a bullet train. She was bubbling with words that she wanted to say or perhaps even yell at Glorfindel. How could he act like nothing had happened? He had a shotgun marriage with a human girl that he did not love! Why did he marry her when he loved Arwen so much? The elf-lady was the reason Glorfindel was fighting. She was his star, to put it literally and figuratively.

Yet, here he was, introducing her as his lady as if it was all normal, as if they had actually gone through the whole five year courting, three year engagement, and one day wedding ceremony followed by a one month honeymoon. The questions, confusion, and anger bubbled within her, pushing back the fear and pain of future abandonment until she was almost about to explode by the time she and Glorfindel were left in his room alone.

She heard the thud of the heavy wooden door of the room close. She bit her lips nervously, and opened her mouth to speak, but Glorfindel beat her to it.

"What is wrong, Miriel? You are angry at me."

She gave a wry chuckle: "Nothing ever escapes you."

"That is not true, but I know you. You are angry at me." The elf-lord said quietly as he walked from the door to stand in front of her.

Miriel looked up at him, her red eyes dark with tears and turmoil: "You know me?" she repeated almost hysterically, "you know me? Then do you know how horrible I feel right now? Do you know?"

She bit her lips, trying to control herself, but the words came tumbling out in a rush: "I knew, don't you understand? I knew who you love. I knew how much you love her. You fought for her. You fought for her in these dark times, and…and I knew you see me as a child."

Her voice wavered and started to break: "I…I know you are an honorable elf. I know you made a promise to me in Forlindon, to protect me. But…I too have my honor and my pride!" Sobs choked her words, "I…Do you know how awful…monstrous I feel? How could you? How could you! I am not a child. I made a decision. It was a decision I could live with!"

All this time the elf-lord remained silent, he looked back at her with a look that she had never seen before; it was a look of confusion and uncertainty.

She cried even harder, as if the tears could soothe the pain in her heart. Because to her, that look told her he now realized the mistake he made by binding himself to her, and it killed her.

She couldn't take this. Her chest ached with a throbbing pain until she couldn't breathe from the agony. All the other words, the ranting she had in her mind disappeared as her entire body trembled and ached with the knowledge that the person she cared for the most in this world will hate her for something he had done merely out of a sense of duty and obligation. She turned and ran out of the room, unable to even voice her pain and anger anymore.


	11. Chapter 11: Kinship and Acceptance

Hi my lovely readers,

Another chapter! We are almost in the homestretch, and this chapter is also a beta testing for another one of my stories, a cross-over if you will.

I hope you all will enjoy it.

Love,

Author

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><p>Miriel ran through the maze of hallways blindly until she was out of the Elvenking's Hall and once again in the forest. She collapsed under a nearby tree and, for the lack of better words, bawled her eyes out. The whole process was rather inelegant and involved a lot of snot, tears, choking, gasping, and hiccupping.<p>

Of course in terms of reality, this was normal. Outside of Disney and Hollywood, no one can really cry without snots and hiccups. So there she was with a blotchy red face, streaked with tears and snots, when she could feel a presence in the forest near her. She dried her face with her sleeves, ignoring the way the fabric scratched her blistered skin.

She glanced around the dark forest warily; her fingers curled around a rock on the floor as she slowly stood up.

In one swift motion she threw the rock into the trees. A gasp tore out of her as the rock came flying back seemingly fast enough to break through the sound barrier. She barely ducked her head out of her way and turned just in time to see the rock blow through the trunk of a large and ancient tree before becoming embedded in the tree behind the one it just shot through.

What the…

Miriel looked back to where the rock had come from as a dark form started to melt out of the shadowy forest of Mirkwood. Miriel clenched her fingers into fists and bent her knees slightly. Good lord, she was just in a battle, the actual one, not the emotional one she just had with Glorfindel, why couldn't the Valar just give her a break?

The outline of a heavy hooded cloak became distinguishable as it came into better lighting. Miriel frowned in confusion. What…Nazgûl? No, the figure was too small to be a Nazgûl, an orc or goblin? Or maybe an Urukai?

But what the hell was it doing so close to the Elvenking's Hall?

Is there an impending attack?

"Who are you? What are you doing here?" Miriel asked, her voice trembling slightly, and with a good reason. She had no weapons or armors. If this was an enemy, she had no way of defending herself much less gaining enough time to warn the elves.

"You are…human…" the shadowy figure murmured in the raspy and hoarse voice of an old man.

Miriel blinked a few times in surprise but did not lower her fists: "Yeah, so?"

Her words seemed to surprise the hooded figure; it tilted its head to study Miriel, causing her to shift slightly in discomfort. She, of course, had momentarily forgotten that what she had said was not a grammatically correct or common sentence in Middle Earth. But even though she did not notice, the figure did. Thick silence reigned in the forest for a long moment before the hooded figure finally spoke up again, well, actually the figure sang: "Amazing Grace, how sweet the sound, that saved a wretch like me. I once was lost but now am found, was blind, but now I see."

Miriel let out a rather strangled gasp that sounded more like a frog croak; she took a shaky step forward: "you…how…how do you know that song…who are you?" This wasn't a pop song, but it was a song that most of the people knew in her world, in that world she thought she had lost forever.

A leather gloved hand rose and slowly pushed back the heavy hood, throwing the rest of the cloak over the shoulders.

Oh….

Miriel's crimson eyes widened as she took in the figure standing before her.

It was a woman, a beautiful woman, despite the gauntness of her face, and the haunting darkness in her eyes, and the dark runes that marred the fair skin of right side of her face, the woman was still incredibly beautiful.

Physically she was just slightly taller than Miriel, but there was a certain elegance in her bearing that Miriel could never hope to emulate. Her features were sophisticated but soft, like calligraphy strokes. Red, fiery red, hair waved down her back with the bang falling just above her almond shaped eyes, one emerald and the other one strangely pitch black with no distinction between the pupil and the rest of the eye. Her skin was ivory pale, almost translucent, and her lips were cracked and pale.

The woman stepped closer to Miriel with a grace that would have shamed a prima donna of Miriel's world, and as she did so, she removed the long leather glove that had reached up to her upper arm. The black fabric fell away to reveal twisted scars carved into the woman's upper arms and black runes that covered the entire limb.

Breath seemed to have escaped Miriel as she watched the woman raised the trembling hand to Miriel's face. The woman let out a soft muffled cry as her cold fingertips touched one of the welts on Miriel's face.

"You are real," the woman said dazedly, seemingly still unable to believe Miriel was there.

Miriel nodded: "I…I am Miriel Hall…from California." Since the woman had taken the risk and revealed the song, she thought she might as well take some risk as well. Either one of them could be a servant of Sauron to the other, but the risk was worth taking.

The woman's hand dropped to her side and a small smile, that was slightly strained, lifted the corner of her pale lips: "My name is Arin Cala, I was from London."

"Hi," Miriel couldn't help but smile. She had thought she would never miss anyone from her world, but there was a strange sense of warmth and happiness bubbling within her as she looked at the woman standing before her. They were, in a sense, of the same race and the only ones of their race in this world.

The woman's smile widened despite the lines of wariness that marred the corner of her lips: "hi." And for the longest time they just stood there staring at each other in utter silence.

"How…how long have you been here?" Miriel asked, finally breaking the stillness.

"Hundreds and hundreds of years," the woman said, a look of utter agony flashed across her one emerald eye.

"Sorry," Miriel swallowed, "I didn't mean…"

The woman maintained the smile and said calmly: "it's quite alright, and how long have you been here?"

"A little bit more than five years, I arrived when I was nineteen."

"So young," the woman said softly, "the Valar have been cruel."

"Oh no, it wasn't that bad," Miriel tried to reassure the woman, "what about you?"

"Twenty-four, but I died when I was thirty-two," Arin Cala replied with the same tranquility as if she was merely telling a story.

Miriel blinked again: "what?"

Arin Cala merely gave her another smile and started to turn to leave.

"Wait! Where are you going?" Miriel hurriedly grabbed hold of the woman's right arm. The reaction was seismic. The woman's head snapped around and fairly snarled at the younger woman. Five years ago Miriel would have been frightened and let go, but she had seen evil and she had fought evil, and she knew, this woman, was no foul being despite the haunting shadows and the scars, because there had been true kindness and sincerity in her smile.

"Let go," the woman hissed. Her voice which had grown slightly smoother during their conversation now fell back to its previous harshness. The runes on the woman's right arm started to widen and it may be a trick of the light but a faint smoke seemed to be rising from the dark tattoos.

Miriel held on stubbornly, meeting the mismatched gaze of the woman: "no."

The woman snarled again and her other hand went to her back and unsheathed a sword. Miriel reacted faster. Although looking back, she decided she was probably insane at the time, because she did something she never thought she would do. She head butted the other woman before positioning her body so that her right leg was behind the woman. She then pushed the woman backwards forcing Arin Cala to trip over her right leg and sending the red-haired woman falling backwards to the ground.

Miriel fell on top of her, straddling the red-haired woman between her knees with her left hand still firmly around Arin Cala's right arm which was now definitely emitting a black smoke.

"Let go," Arin Cala, despite her frail-looking physique, turned out to be quite strong. She easily flipped the more petite girl so that she was on top of Miriel. She pulled her arm back, the sword poised dangerously at Miriel's throat. "Let go," the woman repeated, "it is for your own good. I am cursed. Mere touch can kill you."

Miriel would be damned if she was going to let go. There was another person from her world, and she would not lose her. "But I am fine," Miriel retorted.

Arin Cala stared at Miriel before looking down at her arm where Miriel's fingers were wrapped around. There was smoke rising from the runes, but Miriel's hand was perfectly unharmed.

"So what is supposed to be hurting me?" Miriel asked blandly. Her words and what was going on seemed to have thrown off Arin Cala. The sword dropped to the ground and the older woman just knelt there, staring at the junction between their hands.

"I…this…" words fell out of Arin Cala's lips incoherently.

"You don't have to say anything if you don't want," Miriel said slowly and carefully, not wanting to spook or offend the other woman, "but…what are the runes?"

Another long length of silence reigned until Arin Cala seemed to regain her previous calmness and composure. She stood up and stepped away from Miriel allowing the latter to slowly stand up.

"I am not running away, but I would rather not stand here any longer to have this conversation, so would you let go now," Arin Cala said quietly as she picked up the fallen sword and sheathed it. Miriel bit her lips uncertainly but in the end, acquiesced and released her hold on the woman's arm.

True to her word, Arin Cala merely started to walk back into the forest and Miriel followed as they walked on for hours in silence. They did not stop until they were well away from Elvenking's Hall, and judging by the amount of ground they had cover, they were probably closer to the East Bight than the Hall.

Miriel promptly fell to the ground when they finally stopped. While the other woman looked like she merely took a stroll in the park, Miriel's legs were nearly numbed to the point that she couldn't even feel them anymore. She wasn't sure how she managed to make it this far, especially after following the Urukai into Mirkwood and the battle, but part of it probably have to do with her stubbornness.

Regardless, Miriel managed to make it. As she sat there, massaging her legs, Arin Cala suddenly spoke up.

"I said before, did I not, that I died when I was thirty-two," the red-haired woman said in a voice that was barely above a whisper.

Miriel gasped for breaths for a few seconds and decided her lungs would likely not allow her to speak yet, so she nodded. Thankfully, her contribution didn't seem to be required at this point for the other woman to continue.

"I was taken by orcs to Saruman," Arin Cala continued in the same calm tone she had used before, her emerald eye hooded, "and tortured and experimented on, by the time I escaped, I was no longer the same," bitterness marred Arin Cala's fair façade, "to this day, you are the only one who has touched me and was not injured by the darkness within me. And I realize, I could not go back to," a tremor entered her voice, which before this had remained steady and flat, "I could not go back."

And she fell silent.

Miriel wanted to ask 'go back to where' but felt at this moment it was best not to push. There was so much sadness and so much pain in Arin Cala's green eye so much so that in the back of Miriel's mind, she felt ashamed at how badly she had handled her own issues.

This woman had dropped into Middle-Earth during the prime of her life and then was subsequently kidnapped and tortured. Yet, here she was, still standing straight and strong despite her pain, her sorrows, and all that has happened to her.

Arin Cala turned back around to Miriel and gave a smile, but this time her smile was less strained and less weary: "this is the first time I've spoken to someone for a while, and also the first time I've told anyone about this, thank you for listening."

Miriel, with her eyelids heavy from exhaustion, nevertheless kept her eyes open and looked up at Arin Cala: "why are you thanking me? I think you are ridiculously brave and strong. I…I…" she chuckled wryly, "I can even begin to imagine what you have gone through much less surviving it."

The bitterness returned to Arin Cala's face: "but I did not survive it, I died the day they took me from Greenwood."

Miriel's eyes widened: "you…you lived in Elvenking's Hall."

The blankness returned to the older woman's green eye and she did not reply.

"When you escaped, you didn't go back?" Miriel asked softly.

"How could I?" Arin Cala asked, a bleak look crossing her face. She extended her right arm outward and touched the runes on the right side of her face with her left hand, "the person I was…I am no longer. I…how could I face…him with this darkness in me, a darkness I cannot control?"

Miriel stood up shakily and walked over to the older woman. The woman was in love. Miriel recognized the signs because it takes a woman in love to know a woman in love. The sorrow and the pain in the woman's eyes were because of her love.

"Does he love you?" Miriel asked quietly but firmly.

The woman's green eye looked at her blankly, but Miriel refused to look away and she held the gaze until the pained emotion returned to the green orb: "Yes," the older woman whispered, "he loved me, but not anymore, not if he sees what I have become."

"That's not true."

"How would you know?"

The sharpness of the woman's tone did not deter Miriel either.

Miriel looked down at her own hands that were tightly intertwined with each other: "you are right, I do not know. I do not know what was between you and this person. I do not even know who this person is or what he is like." She swallowed and clenched her fingers tighter until her knuckles turned white, "but I know what it is like to…to like someone so much that I would do anything…anything to just see him and be near him. And how much it hurts…it hurts so bad that my heart would ache until I think it stopped pumping oxygen and my body would turn numb…when I have to leave him."

"You don't understand. I am evil. I have a darkness within me that threatens to consume my entire being with every breath I take," Arin Cala said, her voice no longer calm, instead it was rising in volume and tension, "I can't be anywhere near living beings. I haven't talked to a human, an elf, or anyone for hundreds of years. I cannot go back!"

Miriel raised her head to meet the green eye wild with fury on the right that contrasted sharply with the cold, flat, and emotionless black orb on the left. Miriel's lips trembled but she forged on determinedly. She may never get her happy ending. She may have ruined Glorfindel's life and taken away his chance at happiness. But the Valar had given her a chance to save someone else's happiness. This woman, this beautiful and strong woman, standing in front of her deserves to be happy, and Miriel will make sure Arin Cala gets her happiness.

Call her naïve, optimistic, or even silly, but she had to make her amends somehow.

"You are talking to me now, aren't you? And if touching you is one way to die, we just figured out it doesn't work on me," Miriel said crossing her arms, "and if the runes are a curse then there should be an anti-curse, a way to dispel it."

"I've lived with it for centuries, if there was a way I would have found it," Arin Cala snapped, black smoke starting to rise from her right side again.

Miriel's eyes started to sting; she clenched her fingers tightly: "so what are you going to do? Just wonder around Middle Earth alone forever?" She grabbed hold of Arin Cala's arms, "you said he loved you. If this person really loved you for you, then he will still love you now because he would have loved you for you. He would have loved you for your bravery, for your strength that even I can see, and I just met you."

The red-haired woman shook her head, her one emerald eye crazed with grief: "you don't know that! How could you?"

"Then how could you?" Miriel asked as a drop of tear fell down her cheeks, "how do you know? Why would you just leave both of you miserable by not even trying? How do you know for sure that he would not love you now? You guys loved each other, doesn't that mean something? Isn't that worth trying for?"

Another drop of tear fell down Miriel's cheeks: "a lot of times we fall in love, but that love is unrequited or the person we love passes. Love is rare. Love is precious. It sounds like the person you love is still alive so why won't you just try?"

Arin Cala's knees wavered, and the beautiful woman fell to the ground, sobbing. Clear tears fell down the green eye, but inky black drops fell down from the black pupil-less eye and they hit the ground with a hiss, withering the grasses.

Miriel knelt down, ignoring the poisonous liquid, and wrapped her arms around the other woman: "I know what it is like to be alone, and no one, no one should have been alone for so long. No one should be so cold, fall asleep through so many silent nights, and unable to share the beauty of each day. So don't…don't do this to yourself, please."

The older woman didn't say anything, she just cried with streams of clear and inky tears falling down her face, staining Miriel's shirt black before burning through the fabric, but yet the tears did not hurt Miriel, not even a scratch.

Miriel bit her lips but tears roll down her face with no less fervor either; Miriel's heart ached for how long this woman had to cry alone, fearing what her or her tears would do to living beings. Miriel hugged the woman for hours as she cried and cried until Arin Cala fell into a deep slumber, and then Miriel allowed weariness to finally win and takeover, and fell asleep as well.

When Miriel finally woke up again she was alone in the forest. She scrambled up and glanced around in a panic.

"Arin?" Miriel called out anxiously.

Silence.

"Arin?!"

"Stop shouting," Miriel turned around to see Arin Cala standing there with a light of amusement in her green eye, "Sauron could have heard you from Mordor."

Miriel let out a sigh in relief and said sheepishly: "sorry, I thought…"

"I don't enjoy being alone," Arin Cala said as she walked over and handed Miriel a basket full of berries, "and I am," the woman's lips curved up in a soft smile, "I am grateful for your company not just because you seem to be immune to the darkness within me, but also we seem to have much in common."

Miriel flushed slightly: "Th…thanks, you're super…direct."

Arin Cala laughed as the two woman sat down to a breakfast of berries: "you did not beat around the bush last night either."

"Sorry, I didn't mean to be obnoxious," Miriel said, flushing bright red.

"You weren't," Arin Cala sighed as she pulled her knees up to her chest.

"So…so would you go back to Mirkwood? To…to whomever you…" Miriel stammered uncertainly.

Arin Cala let out a slow and measured breath: "I do not know; it has been so long," her voice turned wistful and wry, "as time passed I think I lose more and more of my courage to go into Greenwood. Your words, they make sense, but I do not think I have the courage to find out the answer even if I wish to." She closed her eyes with a sigh, "I wish…I wish we met sooner."

Miriel reached out a hand and gently touched the other woman's arm: "we've met now."

"There were a lot of times I've wondered if things would have been better off if I never arrived here, or if I did, I died a few days after I got here. Then I wouldn't have met…met him…never…never had those memories…and it wouldn't hurt this much now." Arin Cala said, her voice started to shake.

"No," Miriel said quietly but unwaveringly, "I," she took in a deep breath and continued, "things have not been great," she gave a short laugh, "I just graduated college and was going to start my graduate program when I suddenly landed here. And then I ended up in this really cold place and then, anyways, what I am trying to say is…" she halted as she tried to figure out what she was trying to say.

Miriel looked up and met Arin Cala's now opened eyes: "the warmth, the kindness, the good memories…I thought they were painful too, because I might never experience them again yet I know they exist now. But…I suppose…I think…even then…I would still want to have them, because…" Miriel struggled slightly as she tried to search for the exact words she wanted, "because now I know," words started to flow smoother as understanding slowly dawned upon her, "now I know that someone out there cares about someone like me. And as hard as it is to not have that anymore, I would not give that up, because…because that warmth, that…that…I want to remember that warmth forever."

"And…and," tears fell down Miriel's face, "if I could even have a chance of having that forever, without…without hurting anyone…I would, but I can't…" Her hold on Arin Cala's arm tightened, "please, just…just try?"

Arin Cala did not give a reply, instead, she just smiled and patted Miriel's head: "Enough about me, tell me about yourself. Where did you land in Middle Earth and how did you end up in Greenwood?"

"You are deflecting," Miriel said pursing her lips.

Arin Cala shrugged and leaned back against a nearby tree: "I've blabbed a lot, and now it's your turn."

Miriel paled slightly and her hand dropped from the other woman's arm. She interlocked her fingers together and gave a small nervous chuckle: "my life has been pretty boring."

"I saw you running out of the Elvenking's Hall, crying. What happened?" Arin Cala persisted.

Miriel shook her head and managed a rather weak and wobbly smile: "Don't worry about it," her gaze moved to the long wet red tendrils of the older woman's hair, "you took a bath? There is a stream nearby?"

"Have a lot of experience detracting yourself, I see," Arin Cala said with a soft laughter, "well, fine. There's a small spring just a few feet off that way," she said with a tilt of the head behind her.

Miriel scrambled up with a curt nod: "Okay, I'll be back in a few minutes," she said, ready to lit out of there like a jackrabbit.

"Wait," Arin Cala laughed, shaking her head at the younger woman. She easily climbed up one of the trees and came down again a few seconds later. She handed Miriel a bundle of clothes, "here, your clothes are not really presentable anymore. These should fit you somewhat."

"Oh, ok, thanks," Miriel mumbled as she took the clothes before she turned and ran off.

Despite the fact that Arin Cala was a few inches taller, the clothes fitted pretty well even though they were different from the ones she had worn before. The tunic was made with leather and lined with a soft fabric, cinched with a leather belt. The leggings were also made of the same material, and the entire outfit was dyed black, pitch black. Even the leather boots were dyed black.

The leather was incredibly soft and the stitch work was amazing.

Arin Cala looked up as she returned: "I'm glad it fits."

"Thank you, for the clothes," Miriel said with a light pink flush on her cheeks, "I really appreciate it."

Arin Cala laughed: "you are quite a polite young child aren't you?"

Miriel blinked and then chuckled: "I'm not that young," and then she caught herself, "well, okay, so I guess I'm young compared to you even without the whole hundreds of years thing."

"Alright, come here," Arin Cala said as she pulled out a vial.

Miriel went over dutifully. The older woman dumped some of the content of the vial onto her hands and rubbed them into Miriel's face.

"Oh…that's cold…" Miriel said in surprise.

"Yes, there's some mint in here along with other plants. It'll be good for you. You have eczema, do you not?" Arin Cala said as she rubbed the oil into Miriel's arms as well.

Miriel laughed: "now I definitely know you've stayed here for a while. Your grammar structure sounds kind of like how elves speak, and you know how to do all these wonderful stuff with plants."

"You did not believe me before then?" Arin Cala asked as she finished and tucked the vial back into one of the packs on her belt.

"You are human; I mean it's just…just kind of hard to believe you've been here for so many years," Miriel said carefully.

"Yes, yes, I suppose it is," Arin Cala said wryly, unperturbed by the younger woman's comments.

"I'm sorry. I did not mean…"

"Do not worry yourself over such things. Even now it is difficult for I to believe that so many years have passed." The woman's voice was again devoid of any emotion; it was as if she was talking about someone else rather than herself.

The red-haired woman suddenly moved to climb up the tree she had previously ascended again, and Miriel followed suit, after debating silently with herself for a few seconds, albeit with much less grace and speed than the older woman.

After many minutes, Miriel finally made it to the top of the tree where she found the woman standing on one of the branches and staring up at the night sky.

"Lonely, the path you have chosen. A restless road, no turning back. One day you will find your light again. Don't you know. Don't let go, strong. Follow your heart. Let your love lead through the darkness, back to a place you once knew. I believe, I believe, I believe in you. Follow your dreams. Be yourself, an angel of kindness. There's nothing that you cannot do. I believe. I believe, I believe, in you. Tout seul. Tu t'en iras tout seul. Coeur ouvert…" Miriel watched in awe and surprise as the older woman started to sing. The older woman's voice started off low and husky, but as she continued her voice grew softer and higher.

A gentle smile slowly lifted the woman's lips, erasing the track of time and hard life on her face. And under the silvery moonlight, partially veiled by the black laces of clouds, her auburn fluttered and glowed like roaring fire about her like the wings of an angel.

And for that moment, Arin Cala no longer looked like an old and tired ghost. Instead, Miriel she could see the beautiful and strong lady this woman once was.

Miriel could tell Arin Cala was singing about the being she love. She could feel the depthless tenderness and the aching sadness in each word. This wasn't just a song; this was what gave the woman strength in the darkest time.

_Follow your heart._

_Let your love lead you through the darkness…_

_Someday I'll find you._

_Someday you'll find me too._

_And when I hold you close._

_I'll know that is true._

A tear slipped down Miriel's face unbeknownst to her. She took in a shuddering breath as she pressed her hands to her heart, trying to ease the ache the song had incited.

_Lonely._

_The path you have chosen._

_A restless road._

_No turning back._

Miriel raised her chin and held her head high in the dark night.

It's time to let go.

Glorfindel wasn't hers. He loved another no matter what he had done for her. The gentleness and the warmth did not belong to her.

What had been done, had been done. She would be strong, like Arin Cala. She would give whatever strength she has and whatever grace she had been blessed with to help the free people of Middle Earth and Arin Cala, her kin.

If this was a story, Arin Cala, this strong and beautiful woman, would be the main character, not her, not Miriel Hall who could never be as strong or as beautiful.

But that was alright, because…

It was time to let go.


End file.
